


hello kisses sweet as wine

by xxcaribbean



Category: One Direction (Band), Real Person Fiction
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Bottom Zayn, Businessman Liam, Cock Warming, Daddy Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Illnesses, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Subdrop, Subspace, Sugardaddy, Top Liam, idk it is what it is lmao, like it's a sugardaddy fic but not really??, sugarbaby!zayn, sugardaddy!liam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 04:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 123,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4550820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxcaribbean/pseuds/xxcaribbean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>not everyone is brave enough to go after the things they want. too much judgment and little respect creates nothing but fear; yet zayn’s always pursued what he’s felt regardless of those hang ups, and there’s not a day that goes by that he doesn’t regret any of his choices.</p><p>now, though, his decisions go a little beyond the spectrum of what people might consider normal, but zayn swears he did it out of love for himself and for his family. but mostly, it’s for his insatiable need to feel steadiness for once in his life.</p><p>zayn doesn’t expect mr. payne to have all the answers, and he certainly hadn’t meant to leave an impression.</p><p>so, this isn’t really a love story. well, it shouldn’t be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please excuse this unrealistic, self-indulgent fic. also, pardon my lack of editing. feel free to skip over wordy paragraphs, or let me know of any mistakes (bc i'm sure there are plenty, especially since it's not really brit-picked either, lol). for anyone waiting on this, i hope it was worth the wait. though i suppose some might be disappointed. nonetheless, if you give this fic a go, thank you for reading. i do appreciate it. xx

+

Deciding to meet someone online is a very, very common thing nowadays. Though, the context is where that line gets a little blurry and uncertain. Thing is, Zayn’s old enough to be making these decisions on his own. It may not be the best thing or the smart one either, but he’d like to believe he knows what he’s doing, knows what he’s getting into.

Zayn had chosen this for several reasons, those of which no one really understood, no one _would_ understand.

The sex, while appealing, had only been part of it, but Zayn knew that the money had been another given. Two bonuses in one, and Zayn figured he’d be a fool to pass that up. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a trade off, though. Zayn realized easily enough what it meant following in the footsteps of those eager to find themselves someone to spoil them rotten, and that included (well, in some people’s eyes) a lack of integrity, less dignity, and the potential aspect of being a sex worker.

Looking at it like that makes Zayn cringe. Even looking at the building he’s currently standing in makes him do so because this is some high class, fancy shit. It’s difficult for him to wrap his mind around all this luxury, makes him feel small and partially insignificant, but he’s here, standing in the lobby of an extravagant restaurant like an idiot because everything around him looks so bloody expensive.

But Zayn, more than anything else, _needs_ tonight to work out for him in every way possible. If it doesn’t, he’ll move on, but his first choice seemed like a safe bet, and judging by the part of the city he’s in, Zayn knows that there is far less crime, less danger than some of the other people that had made it onto his list.

And he has a list, no doubt. It’s just that this guy had been at the top for several reasons. The main being Zayn fit the bill, looked the part he’d be playing if this guy turned out to be exactly as described.

Zayn takes a deep breath, wanting to put his nerves to rest and eyes the wall. It’s made out of wood, with curvatures of scenes etched into them. The detailing is gorgeous, and the silver and overall lighting of the room does nothing but speak money and importance.

“Sir?”

Nothing looks like diamonds and crystals here, and that can probably said with some disappointment. However, maybe the chandelier, if anything else, is full of shiny, glittery rocks. Though, it’s high up, and Zayn’s not in the trade of jewelry, wouldn’t know a dud from a pearl if he was asked.

“Excuse me, sir?” He’s asked again, and this time, he turns to the voice addressing him.

It’s the greeter, or the waitress; Zayn’s not certain if they’ve got different names in a place like this, doesn’t know for certain. She’s looking at him sternly, like they both know he’s way over his head, way out of this place of prestige, to be precise. Zayn’s positive he looks nothing like the people that she’s seen come and go; he doesn’t have the air of class, the status, or the wallet filled with the kind of money that would be able to pay off a dinner for one, let alone two.

Maybe he should be worried about that, at least. Footing his portion of the bill had been a thought, and then an afterthought given that he’d been informed everything would be taken care of.

“Either you’re here because you have a reservation, or you’re a nosy kid who needs to leave.”

Zayn wants to scoff, raise a brow and ask her that if he _was_ a child, then why the fuck would he be dressed in this god awful penguin suit that doesn’t even fit his body? The sleeves are a little too long; the trousers, no doubt, drag just behind the ball of his foot. Surely he looks silly, like he at least _tried_ to look the part. Next time Zayn thinks he’ll just turn down the idea of eating out, might feel a little more comfortable not having to wear one of Harry’s suits because he’s the only person in Zayn’s life who actually owns one.

Though out of kindness, Zayn holds his tongue.

Instead, Zayn licks the front of his teeth, shoves his hands into his pocket and clears his throat. He tries to look important, squares his shoulders a little more, tries to make it seem like he’s actually more significant than he really is. “Mr. Payne,” he answers, offering his best smile in return for the inconvenience of messing about. “I’ve got a reservation under that name.”

The woman looks skeptical, like that name rings a bell. So, her eyes slide down onto the book she’s got laid out before her, fingers trailing over the list of names, dates, and times before she finds what she’s looking for. It’s easy to tell that her reluctance to help Zayn diminishes the moment she realizes that Zayn is, in fact, meant to be here and isn’t just some lowly boy looking for a free handout. “Ah,” she starts, smiling wide and looking extra polite. Her demeanor has changed, and Zayn wonders just how popular his date is. “He’s not here yet. How about we go ahead and seat you? I’m sure Mr. Payne will be here shortly.”

While the waitress does her best to make up for her mistake, her smile is tight around the edges. However, she gathers herself, doesn’t let go of any more looks or words until she’s directing a new nerve to show Zayn to his table.

Well, _their_ table. If Mr. Payne shows up, that is.

Zayn’s led behind a barrier that keeps people waiting in the lobby from the actual area of dining. Whether that’s to retain some amount of mystery, or just privacy, it’s difficult to tell. Either way, the lights are low back here, with tables spread out further apart. The entire restaurant is spacious, some booths along the walls, tables far enough away from one another that they’re not crowded together. They’re all neatly set up with expensive dishes, glasses, and silverware, and as he and his new waitress pass through the ensemble of tables (and people, Zayn notes), he knows that everyone is now staring. They’re looking up from their plates, drawing away from their conversations to see who the new guest is, who has arrived that they might find it in themselves to gossip about.

It also doesn’t help that the entire place is full; there are barely any empty seats left, dozens of people sitting casually in suits and dresses, hold their shoulders high and mighty. All of it is very different to what Zayn had seen outside. From that vantage point, the place looked like any other venue, Zayn even double-checking the address just to make sure he’d found the right place.

“Your table, sir.”

And it’s exactly that, a table at the far end of the room, situated specifically near the windows that showcases the brilliant view of the city. Not only that, but it’s a level above half the restaurant, overlooking the entire floor of the place. Chatter still bleeds through because he isn’t situated far enough away from everyone, but it’s enough so to make people jealous, to wonder who has the name and the brand behind them to tower above others in a place this grand. Granted, there are others up here by the windows, but Zayn knows that corner tables are usually sought after, have a feel of secrecy even if that isn’t strictly the case.

“Something to drink?”

Zayn quickly takes the seat that’s offered to him, unbuttoning his suit jacket so that it’s not restricting him when he sits. It’d be a lie to say his hand aren’t shaky, possibly a little sweaty, but Zayn tries to pull his attention away from that and onto the waitress who looks at him curiously with big eyes and a soft smile. They don’t know one another, but Zayn’s positive that she must be a sweet girl off the clock. “Water,” he spits out quickly, maybe a little too wobbly for his liking. “Water is fine for now. Thank you.” He nods his head, and hopes that the women leaves soon, doesn’t want her to see the way his nerves are finally beginning to take over, clawing the inside of his stomach.

When the waitress finally leaves, Zayn lets out a sigh of relief. The view of the city (situated to his right), captures his attention, and from there, Zayn uses that as a way to calm himself down. It’s beginning to grow dark, the sun just on the horizon. The city is already lit, although the lights aren’t as bright as they ought to be, won’t be until the sun is completely gone. At that point, they’ll shine like the stars across the Milky Way, and with that clear picture in his head, Zayn tries his best to find any landmarks he may recognise.

Not even a few minutes later, a glass of water is being placed onto the table. Zayn gives his thanks with a nod before reaching forward to take a sip, and it’s during that moment that he notices the movement towards the front of the building. A waitress is guiding a man along, the both of them weaving through tables to get to their destination.

Zayn can’t lie and say he’s not intrigued.

The man, who’s handsomely dressed in a tux, with broad shoulders and kept hair, suddenly stops at one of the tables. There’s a quick smile that blooms across his face before he’s shaking hands with the people there. Next comes the quick peck to the cheek, given to a woman who could be Zayn’s grandmother, and then the man is walking away with a quick wave and a wink that certainly isn’t a wink. That lovely jester typically entails one eye blinking while the other stays open, and Zayn grins to himself at the mistake, if not trait, of his new-found interest.

It’s difficult not to openly stare, and Zayn wonders if it’s like this for everyone else —obviously it had been that way for him— to quietly watch new arrivals enter, form gossip, or at least admire. Vultures are what they remind Zayn of, all dressed in money from head to toe, disguised as something enticing.

Either way, the thought is quickly forgotten when Zayn notices that the man and the waitress don't stop moving, and it’s rather funny the way that Zayn suddenly sits up straight. Before, Zayn hadn’t worried, had nearly forgotten that he'd been sitting here by himself, waiting on his company to arrive. And for whatever reason, he’d also forgotten that, yeah, he’d meant to be on the lookout, wanted to know what he’d gotten himself into, and this man, who’s certainly a few years older than Zayn, who looks so comfortable in the range of the context Zayn’s here for, fits the mark. He’s impeccably dressed, suit proper and most likely worth two months of Zayn’s rent, maybe three, if not more, and _fuck_ , Zayn’s just at a loss for words.

His throat feels dry, and Zayn can’t help but stare now, blatantly do it not because he’s overly curious, but because this could very well be Mr. Payne, and if that doesn’t strike a line of fear into his heart, surely the fact that he keeps getting closer and closer to Zayn’s table, will.

Right now would be the perfect opportunity to escape, to leave this place and never look back. However, Zayn blinks and turns away from the man, focuses on the empty seat in front of him and remembers why he’s here in the first place.

Harry had laughed at him when he’d suggested doing this, thought it hilarious that Zayn could play the part of a _sugarbaby_ , knowing well enough that the idea and the reality of it were two separate things. Zayn hadn’t joined in with Harry, not like his friend expected him to because he’d been serious at the time of the suggestion. Zayn knows it’s not very practical, not very ideal or even respectable in some people’s eyes, but the facts of his life have remained consistent the past couple of years, and Zayn’s tired of feeling helpless.

Mostly he’s tired of the stress, the lack of money, watching his sister slave over work in order to send most of her money back home, not allowing Zayn to use what little he makes to send with it. Tough times happen to everyone; Zayn’s not stupid enough to believe that they don’t, but he also realizes that it’s not easy trying to make something of himself, and sometimes there’s a point where someone has to do what they need to do in order to get by.

Zayn’s doing that. He’s got his family to think about, and he’ll be damned if he sits back any longer. Call it begging, or selling himself for sex, but Zayn craves control, and _this_ was his solution.

Probably not the best, but it’d work for now.

Either way, there’s no more time to contemplate on what Zayn should do - stay or go - because suddenly there’s a firm presence, the waitress rounding the corner, the man in tow. Zayn internally panics, doesn’t know what he should do now that he realizes that yeah, the man is Mr. Payne, and he’s the one that Zayn’s meant to be meeting tonight. With his heart in this throat, Zayn hastily stands up from the table, thigh colliding with the edge of it. It shakes, the silverware and his water rattle, and all of it only draws attention to himself from both the waitress and Mr. Payne.

Reaching forward, Zayn tries to steady everything until all is well, and he’s in the clear. The quick breath he releases feels nice, but he also knows that he’s made himself look a fool now, like a bumbling idiot with a straight blush staining his cheeks. Zayn figures it runs down his neck, too, what with the way he suddenly grows jittery, feeling the need to pull at his tie and not quite look at his date. Really, he’s such an embarrassment.

“S-sorry. It’s, um, good to-” he mutters, and with that, Zayn bites his lip. Ducking his head along with scuffing the tip of his shoe on the ground, he finishes with, “-meet you, yeah.” And certainly the blush has faded into a deep scarlet color because he can feel the eyes of the man before him boring into his skin; Zayn only wishes the ground would swallow him whole. While he had every intention of getting through tonight with some kind of confidence, he’s positive that’s not going to happen now, knowing good and well that he can’t even find the balls to look up and meet the gaze of the man he’s meant to have a relationship with, strictly business and nothing more. It’s like all of his practiced dialogue in the mirror the past few days has all been for naught.

Fortunately, Zayn’s saved when the man clears his throat, reaches forward with careful ease to take Zayn’s hand. He allows it; why wouldn’t he? He’s already enough of an idiot for thinking he could come out of this with his pride in tact, so he might as well follow along as best as he can.

Mr. Payne brings Zayn’s hand forward before a cool pair of lips meet the back of it. Zayn had tried his best to keep from looking, but it seems that the older gentlemen is wanting to make a habit out of grabbing Zayn’s attention. Really, though, all it feels like is a fairytale because hell, who the fuck makes these kinds of gestures anyway?

Zayn tries his best not to look a little bemused, or cock his eyebrow in question, wants to follow along like this is relatively normal even though it’s not.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Malik, is it?” Mr. Payne asks as soon as his lips part from the back of Zayn’s hand.

He nods dumbly, too captured by the man’s stare, coffee-colored eyes that light up after Zayn gives his answer. He looks humble for someone of importance, and Zayn’s not stupid enough to think that he’s not because he wouldn’t be standing in this restaurant; Mr. Payne wouldn’t be looking like he stepped out of a bloody magazine if he wasn’t within that category. Zayn’s not completely sure what he does for a living, just like the other man isn’t all that aware of Zayn’s life, but it’s meant to be that way, meant to be discreet and on a need-to-know basis.

“Yes,” Zayn swallows, realizing that the other man is waiting on his reply. “Yeah, Zayn, actually. Please.” His hand isn’t released just yet and a mouth is now replaced by a thumb, gently rubbing what little spit had been left behind, away.

Briefly, a chorus of silence follows after that, leaving Zayn wondering whether he should’ve said anything at all. Certainly, it doesn’t help that Mr. Payne continues his gaze, piercing Zayn’s soul in a way he wasn’t prepared for. Whether he’s looking for something specific, Zayn may never know, but regardless, his date may never find it. “Then by all means,” Mr. Payne eventually says, “my name is Liam.”

To follow up with that, and before Zayn can give his approval, Liam’s leading Zayn back into his seat like a true gentleman. Zayn’s left wondering if any of this is even real, if he’s being pranked, with him in the loser’s circle being laughed at while others think it’s comedy gold. It’s not that any of it is too hard to believe necessarily, but Zayn’s out of his element, would very much like it if someone were to slap him awake given the course of events.

Hopefully soon he’ll settle in, blink away the fuzziness from his eyes that keep him dumbfounded and slightly in awe of Liam. Because that’s what Zayn is, he realizes, completely mesmerised by a man he’s known for less than five minutes. If anyone were to ask why, Zayn wouldn’t even be able to give an answer. They’ve hardly spoken two words to one another, but Zayn’s already captivated by Liam. Surely, it’s only a matter of time before Zayn fully realizes the sinking effect that his date possesses.

As soon as he’s seated, Liam follows, taking the seat on the other side of the table. He unbuttons the button on his jacket just like Zayn had done when he’d gotten to the table, and then straight afterwards, Liam’s being addressed by the waitress, menus placed in front of them both.

Clearing his throat, Liam easily flicks his gaze to the women waiting patiently on an answer. He smiles, so sweetly, he does, and if Zayn were actually paying attention to the waitress, he might’ve seen the way she flushed under Liam’s gaze. “The Merlot,” Liam says easily, doesn’t even bother to look at the menu. It’s an obvious sign that he’s been here before. “Is that okay with you?”

Zayn then finds Liam’s gaze on him again, and that panic he’d felt before, the one that caused him to nearly trip over himself, is back. So, instead of actually trying to look smart and answer with words, Zayn gives a simple nod despite the fact that hell, he’s not even sure what the fuck that particular wine tastes like or why they even need to be drinking it in the first place.

Without another word, the waitress leaves with a small bow, and then she’s gone, and while Zayn in any other situation might’ve been grateful for that, he finds that yeah, not so much; now he’s stuck with a man he doesn’t know and silence that seems to ensue the longer they sit here. Zayn, however, would say something if he knew what to say, but he doesn’t, settles for fiddling with the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“You’ve never had wine, then.”

Zayn licks the front of his teeth, would very much rather pass off a simple _that’s not true_ to save himself any humiliation, but when he glances up, he finds Liam staring at him intently, eyebrows a little raised, posture straight, and oh god, Zayn didn’t think this would feel like a job interview. “I take it that cheap beer and the occasional shots are not your forte.”

He’s not expecting anything but a scowl at that comment, knowing he doesn’t have a funny bone in his body, but it seems like tonight he’s enthralled his suitor because Liam breaks out into a grin, releasing a huff of laughter in the process.

Dare he say it, but Zayn’s almost proud of that small accomplishment, doesn’t hurt that Liam looks nearly boyish when his eyes light up, crinkles set into the corners. They should show age rather than anything else, but Zayn can tell that that’s not the case.

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want,” Liam offers. “But I highly suggest you try it. Probably won’t like it at first, but it’d do you some good to get acquainted with what things could be like.” He gives a proper nod to the room around him, and while that should leave Zayn hanging, looking around and wondering what else could be in store for him, he’s not. All Zayn can focus on is the fact that Liam’s already at the point of considering Zayn an option. “It doesn’t take much to adjust.”

Food for thought, that is, and while Liam sounds eager for Zayn to join his little part of the world, he’s not sure he’ll ever fully be accustomed to it. Zayn knows that if things go well between them tonight, the hourglass will turn over, and he’ll be running on limited time. Maybe it’s a bit unforgiving to think he’s the kind of guy someone would throw away easily, but Zayn’s not foolish, and he’d rather be self-deprecating now rather than wait until he’s on his knees begging for a second chance.

Either way, Zayn isn’t given much time to dwell on those aspects seeing as the waitress easily returns with a bottle of wine. She picks it up with cloth, careful of its slight chill before she makes a scene of opening the cap and pouring their individual drinks.

Zayn watches on, all a bit fascinated, not like he hasn’t seen this done a million times before, but he thinks there’s an added sparkle knowing that that bottle costs more than he cares to know. Though, as soon as she’s finished, Liam immediately reaches for the glass and takes a sip. Zayn doesn’t follow suit, wonders exactly what Liam thinks of his drink before he’s giving a satisfied smile for the server’s efforts to please.

And once again, Zayn’s pretty sure he misses the way the woman blushes because he’s too busy trying not to stare at Liam’s lips or the way he swallows down his wine. To say he’s mesmerised is an understatement, but Liam’s like, all class and suave, and Zayn suddenly feels like a child watching as the adults have all the fun.

“And your orders?”

Luckily, Zayn doesn’t startle at the sound of the waitress’ voice, but he does realize that shit, yeah, neither of them had taken a second look at the menu, and now Zayn’s wondering if he should just glance at the first thing on the list and get that.

“The steak will do just fine; well done, too.”

And then all eyes are on him, and Zayn well, he kind of panics, maybe? Like, that feeling has hit him twice tonight, and he doesn’t find it comforting to be put on the spot, ever. This is no different, and while it shouldn’t be a problem to quickly look at the menu and rattle off exactly what he wants, he finds he’s kind of stuck. He gives his brain a mental kick, but even that doesn’t do shit for him, so when Zayn hears, “How about he have the same? I'm sure he’ll quite enjoy it,” that’s when he frowns and feels like slamming his forehead against the table.

He doesn’t; that would bring about more embarrassment, and Zayn’s already done a fine job of that tonight. “Thank you,” he murmurs once the waitress has left them alone. Any other time, he thinks he might be pissed at someone ordering for him because he’s old enough, independent enough to be making decisions on his own. But it’s the relief that’s welcome, as if Liam had figured his struggles right off the bat, leaning in quickly to save him from looking any more of a fool.

“You don’t have to be nervous.”

Liam’s voice is calm, and Zayn finds himself looking up at the man through the thick of his lashes, away from the elegant words written in cursive on the menu. He stares at Zayn with what he thinks is kindness, and that has Zayn quite confused. Sure, this is somewhat of a business deal between them, involving money and his body, and honestly, Liam shouldn’t be so… dare he say it, sweet? Granted, Zayn hasn’t a clue what he’s gotten himself into, yet, but this was the last thing he’d expected. “I’m not,” he tries, but they both know he’s lying. So, Zayn shrugs and continues with, “I just want to do this right.”

Which, that’s the truth, but if he goes even further, Zayn knows that there’s probably not a right way to go about this. None of this should even involve him if anyone he knew had a say about it, but Zayn made the choice, and even though it may seem weird as fuck to those who don’t understand, he still wants this to be okay. As much as he can walk away from tonight with a simple decision, nicely decline Liam and head towards the exit without looking back, Zayn wants to stick with this. It means more to continue than to give up. Most of his drive rests with the money that is surely burning Liam’s bank account, but it’s also there in Zayn’s needs. He’s unsatisfied with what he’s been feeling lately, with all the shit in his life, but mostly with what happens in his bed. It’d been a scary thing to admit at first, but Zayn’s always sought happiness, had seen most of it leak out of his family home until now all that’s holding up its foundation is his parent’s hope that things will get better soon.

Sometimes Zayn doesn’t have hope like them or his sisters, but what he does have is a solution. By no means is it an end-all, cure-all that’s going to raise him out of the depths of hell and lead him back to a good path in life, but for once, Zayn wants to pursue what he’s always told to have faith in.

More or less, he does, to some extent, have faith, but there’s nothing wrong with chasing after it either.

Zayn realizes right now that he can find what he’s looking for with Liam - hell, might be able to find it in another man if he tries hard enough, look at his list and go for them. However, something tells him he’s not going to need to look any further than what’s already sitting before him.

“Look,” Liam begins, sitting back in his seat, looking every bit like a man with power. It shouldn’t be so shocking considering the fact that Zayn had gone out of his way to find exactly the type of men he was looking for, those in business suits who carried more cash in the bank than half the city combined, those who sat back on their thrones and watched as everyone else took care of everything for them. Mostly, it’d been men with power who needed _something_ , just like Zayn needed them for _something_ , too. “I’m not as much of an idiot as you might think.”

Worrying as his lip will do him no good, and surely Zayn looks startled.

“We both know why we’re here, and I’m not going to sit around and claim that this is something it isn’t simply because you’re playing _pretend_ to get what you really want, especially while I’m in the position to give it to you because it helps boost my ego and my image.”

Liam leans forward then, and Zayn has to make every effort not to push himself back into his seat. He’s slightly intimidated, yes, but Liam doesn’t necessarily pose a threat; what he’s aiming for is a warning, and Zayn hears it loud and clear.

“I’m not old or stupid enough to believe that someone like yourself,” and he gestures to Zayn, presses the length of his arm against the table, all the while losing a little bit of that etiquette in favour of keeping their conversation to themselves, “would easily fall into my bed if it meant _just_ a relationship. There are certain things that come with the territory, and you’re here not because you _like_ me, but because you need me, and that’s fine.” Liam smiles quite gently for a man who’s trying to make a point, and it’s not like Zayn didn’t know about this; however, it’s probably a good thing that Liam’s laying it out before them so that they both know what this is about rather than them not being on the same page. “As much as you’re using me for your own gain, I’d certainly hope there’s an understanding that I’d be using you, too.”

To confirm all of this, Zayn gives a measly nod of the head. His words are right there in his throat, but so far, he’s found it better to sit in silence, likes the fact that he isn’t being coaxed into being an active participant in the conversation even though it’s about the both of them. It’s easy to follow the leader, and Zayn, by all intents and purposes, will never be that.

“Good,” Liam says just before he takes another sip of his wine and settles back into his seat. “Now, you mind telling me a little about yourself, who you are, and what you’re doing here?” That question is simple and precise, but sharp, not laced with malice but an objective. “We both know a little lad like you could be doing a million and one things right now, but instead, you’re here at this table with me, nervous because you’re unsure about whether or not I’d be humble enough to choose you over the other lads I’ve already had dinner with. I’ve got eyes, and I don’t take flirting lightly.”

He’s trenchant, Liam is, and that doesn’t necessarily make Zayn wary, but it does mean he can’t lie or omit some of his truths. Not that he would, anyway, but just as he knows Liam isn’t going to be forthcoming about everything in his life, Zayn should hope that Liam’s not going to expect much from him either. And well, right about now, Zayn feels incredibly small. Obviously, what Liam’s said is true, and part of Zayn knew it, but the fact remains that he’s still got a choice. He said before he wouldn’t change it for anything, and it’s not like he’s second guessing himself now, but Liam’s implications of being dependent and relying on him for his needs did, in fact, mean faking desire to a certain extent. They’d both know the veracity underneath, the real reason they’re doing this for one another, but mostly Zayn realizes that it’d be this way with anyone else, too, stroking other men’s egos enough to actually have them thinking hey, there’s a little twink of a boy willing to keep himself wet whenever daddy says _let’s play_.

Still, though, Zayn finds that Liam’s words don’t change a lick of his inclination. Sure, Zayn might’ve had an underlying goal to impress, maybe not straight up flirt and look too gone for cock, but something a little different that would have himself a steady fling to fulfill his need of being taken care of. The best he can offer is his honesty, and Liam’s offering him the chance to do that. He’s cautious, and it means he’s probably been played in the past, but Zayn thinks it’s nice because they're both in a mutual agreement, there’d be no lying, no giving Liam a false sense of affirmation.

So, Zayn takes a moment to breathe, really get air into his lungs, even going so far as to pick up his wine glass to take a sip. He doesn’t miss the way the corner of Liam’s mouth quirks up, nor the amusement in his eyes when Zayn frowns in dislike of the taste. It tastes terrible, just like Liam hinted at, but he swallows it without flinching and roughly finds the courage to see if he has what it takes to show Liam that he’s the best thing since sliced bread.

“My name is Zayn Malik,” he starts, think it’s idiotic right afterwards because obviously Liam had come here prepared, knew who he was meeting. However, Zayn thinks it’s okay because he’s trying to be polite.

He means to go on, but they’re interrupted just as soon as Zayn tries to open his mouth, their plates of food being placed right in front of them, and Zayn’s shoulders fall. Unsure of what he’s meant to do next, Zayn waits until they’re alone again before gauging Liam’s reaction, and what he finds is that it’s still on Zayn.

That’s probably enough of an answer.

“Nineteen, nearly twenty, and a college dropout.” He winces at that last part there, hadn’t necessarily meant to spill the beans on that little tidbit of information, but it’s out there now, and he can’t take it back. He hopes that Liam’s not disappointed with that, finds that he’d rather look out the window instead of stare at Liam while admitting his downfalls, and really, it’s not like he had a choice. Bills come first, and Veronica’s already working her arse off as it is, and Zayn knows that it’s not fair to her if he spent their much-needed money on a couple of classes during a semester.

Although, Liam never says anything about it, doesn’t stop Zayn from speaking, and Zayn finds that he’s grateful for that. The silence Liam gives doesn’t mean that he’s happy with Zayn not going to school to make something of himself, but what he does know that he’ll argue if push comes to shove, if Liam thinks Zayn’s wrong for that decision because honestly, it’d been something necessary, not anything he’d wanted to initially make. “Rent a flat with my sister, Veronica, and my best friend Harry. Work downtown, the lower end, at a local art supply store, and if V’s ever in over her head, I’m usually the one she calls. She works at a diner, and the owner’s generous.”

The smell of the food is overwhelming, but Zayn hasn’t given it a look. His stomach growls, not loud enough to be heard by anyone, and that’s a good thing. He’s already admitted his predicament; he’d prefer Liam not thinking he’s starving, too. It’s easy, somehow, to accept that his situation isn’t all that lively. He hasn’t even presented the rest of it, but that’s none of Liam’s concern, won’t ever be if Zayn has a say. He thinks of home, of his parents, how he wants to help them as best as he can, and that helps him swallow his pride.

That’s what tonight is about in the long run, though, owning up the fact that Zayn’s known for quite some time that easy boys who felt like college was an invitation to party weren’t enough for him. He liked maturity, liked the build of a man who was a little older, could manhandle him into position while he begged to be fucked like a slut. And it’s not like Zayn’s had those kind of opportunities either, but the few —the _very_ few— guys he’d been with had only been able to give him a taste of what he craved. This right here, Liam, was a whole new league, one Zayn was more than willing to spread his legs for out of principle and lack of decorum. “So, yeah,” he proceeds, “you’re right. My intention isn’t necessarily honorable, but there’s no doubt that yours isn’t either. Now, I’ll be presumptuous and ask if you’d be so kind to tell me exactly what you expect of me because I’d like to begin dinner.”

Being forward has always gotten Zayn in trouble, and he thinks that this time might be the case, too, but Liam’s moving, reaching for his silverware to cut into his steak, taking a bite and chewing while he apparently thinks. The movement happens so quickly, but it pushes Zayn to finally do the same, cut into his meat in the hopes that it’ll settle the pain in his stomach.

Liam’s careful to finish a few more bites, chews it all and swallows before the wine is at his lips again, and then he’s focused on Zayn like he hadn’t even touched his meal. “Smart,” he grins behind the glass as he takes another sip. It’s nearly gone, and Zayn briefly wonders how much Liam can handle before he gets drunk. “I like intelligence, does me a bit of good when we’re at daft events full of old men trying to prove who has the biggest prick.”

Both Liam and Zayn grimace at that. Zayn doesn’t need to be part of the elite to know that story. He remembers the guys in college, those who played sports and were too focused on that and pretending like they owned the goddamn campus. They might’ve not had money, and their ages are no doubt different, but Zayn bets that they’re all the same— college bros and men with too much time on their hands.

When the glass is back on the table, Liam reaching for his utensils again, his tongue darts out of his mouth quickly enough, just in time for Zayn to catch the small gesture. It’ll probably be the only time he gets to see Liam less than presentable until they decide to do anything more— _if_. His tongue licks along plush pink lips that Zayn knows have definitely seen the head of a cock before.

“However,” and Liam sounds so nonchalant about the next bit that comes. Zayn’s not prepared for it, but Liam doesn’t look bothered. “You’re a bit pricey.”

Liam says it like it might actually be a turn-off, and something deep within Zayn’s stomach drops. He still hasn’t touched his food yet, but now all he wants to do is push it away from him, hadn’t expected the price to come into play yet. He’d only made an offer beforehand, not because he expected a price to be placed upon him, but because it’d been requested, and Zayn figured that anything leftover could go into savings. One way or another, there’s got to be enough of a flow of cash to send home and some for his fund for school. Whether he goes, or he forces Veronica to go, that’ll be left up for debate, but Zayn’s adamant on that fact, and if he has to argue with Liam about it, then he’ll do it.

Surely if Liam likes intelligence, he’ll understand where Zayn’s coming from. “For myself,” he admits. “For my situation, but mostly for school. There’s no way I’d be able to go back anytime soon, and I’ll probably have to hold off for a couple of years.” His brow furrows; he knows it does because Zayn can feel the pull of the muscle, his emotions taking over rather than his head. “But I want that,” Zayn urges, “eventually.”

Zayn doesn’t say another word after that, just lets the silence take over. In the meantime, he actually cuts into his food, savors the taste of the steak on his tongue. It’s flavorful, probably taste ten times better than it really is because tonight is free, and Zayn doesn’t have to worry about forking out extra cash he can’t afford to spend.

“Believe it or not,” Liam finally begins, “school’s probably the most important thing you can do for yourself. You don’t _have_ to go, but if that’s something you want for yourself,” and he shrugs, Liam does, so casually like the idea of it all isn’t as significant to him as it is to Zayn. That’s not because it isn’t. Surely, Liam had to have gone to school in order to get where he is now, but college had probably always been an option for him, never had to worry about the weight of expense. Or, maybe he had, and he found his own way to handle it. It doesn’t seem like Liam’s going to be sharing that with Zayn right now, though, “I’m not going to write you off because of expense. Or do I need to write down exactly what I’m worth on a piece of paper and slide it over like we’re children?”

Zayn finishes chewing and swallowing before he levels Liam with a stare. “I just thought that maybe—”

The corner of Liam’s mouth is pulled up again before he states, “You think I’m picky.” Zayn’s met with a snort from Liam, but the older man goes back to cutting his food without looking away from it. “I am,” he admits, “but if there’s one thing I respect more, it’s when someone can admit when they need help to achieve what they want. Using someone is like a game for some,” Liam doesn’t have thin lips, and they’re even more prominent when he pushes for a smile, “but when there’s an admission of truth and honesty, I’m all ears.”

Zayn sucks on the inside of his cheek, mostly out of habit and to rid of the flavor in his mouth. His appetite has grown, but he finds he’d rather take his time eating, not because of the conversation at hand, but because Zayn feels the heaviness circulate their table, what Liam’s implying and what this means for Zayn. Liam hadn’t promised to help him through the rest of his life, but he’s just stated that he respects Zayn for acknowledging his downfalls. There’d been sincerity in his voice, no judgment to be found in the fact that Zayn’s doing this because he’s at a dead end.

And maybe he can say Liam’s only kind because he’s receiving something in return, and that may be the case, and Zayn’s just completely naive. However, through Liam’s words, Zayn knows what sacrifice is, wonders the kind of past Liam’s had to bring him to his conclusions.

Whether or not Zayn will find an answer, he does his best to leave it alone. He’ll have to keep reminding himself that that’s not what he’s here for, and it’d do him some good to remember that. And in the meantime, Zayn takes a deep breath before finally tearing his eyes away from his food, bringing the fork to his mouth to take another bite.

“You stick around,” Liam adds with firmness, “you won’t be looking at everything like that for long.”

Surely, Liam can’t read minds, but his words ring true nonetheless. He’d probably been talking about the steak and the idea of getting used to fancy things. Zayn won’t have to feel like a burden, like a lesser class. It’ll all be make-believe, but it’ll still be a reality for a very short period of time.

The rest of their meal is mostly in silence, and that’s fine. Zayn doesn’t need constant remarks to keep him steady. What makes it even better, is the fact that there is now an understanding between the two of them, a certain amount of respect laid out that they both return to one another. And Zayn, for the most part, feels like that’s the first time that’s ever happened. He lives amongst people within the same wealth-tier as him, but having a man who’s most likely caught up in a billion dollar company treat him as if he were no better than himself, that makes Zayn feel less awkward, less weird, and ultimately _good_. There’s always moments reserved for humiliation, and Zayn can admit part of it, for him, at least, is in the bedroom, but outside of that— out here where everyone in the room could potentially mock and laugh at him for simply not being good enough, that Liam holds his choice in the palm of his hand with reverence, it boost Zayn’s ego just a little bit, lights a fire in his eyes he didn’t know he had.

Liam’s the first to finish his food, pushing the plate away from the edge and cleaning himself up with his napkin. Really, there’s not a hair out of place, but it’s the notion that counts the most. “Before I leave,” Liam adds, sitting back in his seat again; he gestures for Zayn to continue eating, doesn’t want him to wait any longer to enjoy his meal, “there’s a few things I’d like to make clear.”

While he doesn’t sound strict, Zayn figures he knows what Liam’s going to be getting at. So far, it’s sounded as if Liam’s accepted him, but he could be wrong, and Zayn shifts in his seat to get ready for whatever news Liam might bring him.

Zayn watches as Liam reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket, removes something from there. Zayn can’t tell what it is at first, but he pays no mind when he glances up into Liam’s eyes.

“I’m assuming you’ve looked into this, so I don’t feel the need to explain any more than what’s necessary. However,” and he does tilt his head, hand tight around the object that’s resting there, “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want. Namely, there’s a place and a time I’ll give you; you show up, vice versa, and we’ll both be happy.”

Part of Zayn feels a bit elated by what Liam’s telling him, and even if he had a feeling deep down that all of this would work out in his favor, it’s still nice to hear the confirmation.

“But if there are _any_ lines crossed,” Liam starts again, making damn sure Zayn is looking at him and listening, “you say something. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Zayn says. He could’ve easily done with a nod, but something tells him that Liam’s careful about consent. Again, it could be more along the lines of keeping Zayn away from a lawsuit, protect Liam’s image, whatever that may actually be. But Zayn’s not set out to ruin anyone’s life, and Liam’s already showed him enough kindness as it is.

That doesn’t mean anything can’t happen later on, but Liam’s next words flatten out his worry because the next time they’ll be meeting, it won’t be alone. “There’s a gala this Saturday, and if you’re up for it, I’d like for you to join me.”

It’s not that the offer is so sudden, but Zayn hadn’t been expecting to do anything right away, wasn’t really sure what Liam would want him for exactly. So, playing rent boy at some kind of event isn’t exactly what he had planned to do with his weekend, but he’ll take it if it means getting a feel for Liam and his life. Liam’s already given him the chance to back out at any time, and this’ll be Zayn’s first real opportunity to play along, to see if he can actually follow through with his part in the presence of other people, those of which Liam will be familiar with, might even be friends with.

Now that he thinks about it that way, it seems like a bit of a daunting thought.

“You’re going to need a better suit,” Liam hums, gesturing to Zayn’s ensemble. It’d be quite offensive if Zayn didn’t know he was right.

“Not mine,” Zayn points out while a light flush colors his cheeks. “Didn’t have anything else.”

To follow up with that, Liam finally reveals what was in his hand. It’s a wallet, and he’s reaching forward to give it to Zayn. He stares at it though, blinks a bit owlishly until Liam raises his eyebrows in order for him to take it.

So, Zayn does, and he can tell that it’s a bit thicker than it ought to be. He makes to open it, but Liam’s quick to snap his fingers. “Not here.” He rights himself after that, smoothing down the labels of his jacket while Zayn just pockets the wallet without another glance at it. He knows there’s cash in there, but he guesses the amount isn’t for anyone else’s eyes but his own. “You’ll use that to find yourself a suit. Pick a place, get measured, pay a little extra and throw in my name if you need to, and you’ll have yourself something before Saturday night.”

“You’re sure?” And Zayn doesn’t mean to question it, but the weekend isn’t that far away, and even he knows that fitting a suit isn’t necessarily an easy task.

“You’ll see,” Liam reasons before lifting up his hand to scratch at the underside of his jaw. He’s got a nice amount of scruff, if Zayn’s honest, nicely kept and it suits him just fine. “After expenses, what’s left in there is yours, but I’m trusting you’ll be smart enough to use it _after_ this weekend. Otherwise,” Liam clears his throat, and his lips thin, “I’ll consider it stolen.”

Zayn doesn’t have to be told twice, not with the look that Liam sends his way. It only lasts for a few seconds, the dark cloud completely sweeping off his face for something more lax and reserved. Zayn can’t help but think that now is much more of a defining moment then he’ll realize later on. The amount of trust Liam is placing on him, well, he can feel the weight of it, heavy and solid. He’s lived without much money his entire life, and he’s positive he can go a few more days, would rather the wallet become an afterthought rather than a complete dependency right off the bat.

Somewhere within that, Liam approves of Zayn’s hesitation. He hadn’t meant to become an open book, but he supposes it’s better that way, might help the both of them settle into this thing a little easier.

Liam eventually smiles before adding, “It was a pleasure to meet you, babe.” The words are silky smooth, and Zayn’s prepared the moment Liam stands from his seat. Zayn wonders if he should follow suit, but he hasn’t even finished eating yet, and really, it’d be a shame if he left it to waste. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again, hopefully.”

Zayn swallows and looks up at the man before him. So far, the waitress hasn’t returned, and maybe that’d been a request on Liam’s part, but whatever the reason, Zayn’s glad for it now. It’s just the two of them, and that feels just about right.

There’s a fleeting moment where Zayn expects Liam to leave him with that, doesn’t know what else there is to say right now because everything’s pretty much set in stone. Yet, while Liam had given him very few surprises tonight, he leaves Zayn with this one.

Liam gathers himself before leaning down, taking Zayn’s jaw in his hand, so delicately. His fingers are smooth, not as callused as Zayn thinks they should be, but that’s okay. Liam makes up for it by holding him still, bending down to press his lips against Zayn’s in the softest brush he’s ever felt in his life, and that’s enough to set his nerves ablaze. The warmth coils down to his toes, and somewhere in there, Zayn’s breath hitches.

Before he knows it, Liam’s pulled away, Zayn left there with his eyes closed and sense overwhelmed, and when he finally blinks them open, Liam’s already taken a few steps back, mirth in his eyes. He then spins on his heel without any more said, leaving Zayn at the table by himself.

Zayn sits there the entire time, watching Liam retreat to the front of the building and not once does he turn back to look at Zayn. He can’t help but think it, but everything feels a little cold now, hadn’t realized the warmth that Liam brought with him to the table.

And it’s not long after that, when Zayn’s got his heartbeat under control that he finally finishes his food, watching the night for what it is, beauty and calmness. The waitress eventually comes back at some point, clearing the table while Zayn gives his thanks.

Zayn’s not quite sure how long he sits there. No one tells him to leave, and that’s probably because if they did, Liam would hear about it, but eventually he finally makes the decision to gather himself and leave. He’d asked about the bill before, but the waitress had waved him off, told him it’d been taken care of, and Zayn knew he’d be set.

Once he steps out into the night, Zayn makes sure to soak it in as though this had turned out differently than expected. Because really, it’d happened better than he ever could’ve imagined.

He only hopes that his future remains that way, too.

+

Thing is, Zayn really likes to sleep, okay. He swears it’s in his nature and not something he’s just grown accustomed to. It just happens, and when he’s disturbed, well, that just makes for a cranky Zayn.

What’s worse is the fact that both his sister and his best mate are the complete opposite. It doesn’t help that he lives with the both of them, either and that only means there’s way too many people here that are so bloody chirpy in the morning.

Well, it’s not like he actually gets out of bed to experience their chipper moods. Quite frankly, Zayn does his best to avoid it at all costs, but it seems like today he’s not so lucky. Zayn wakes to the feeling of someone watching him, and that someone is Harry. He’s sitting on the edge of Zayn’s mattress, poking his thigh, pulling at his feet, and singing for him to, “Wake up! C’mon now, we’ve got stuff to discuss, mister. Like yeah, definitely. _Zaynnnn_.”

Zayn tries his best not to shift, or open his eyes as he reaches for the nearest pillow. Once he does, he throws it and smirks when it hits Harry directly in the face.

“You’re an asshole,” Harry spits with no real malice. He looks disappointed, almost, and that would make Zayn feel guilty if he wasn’t already ticked by the fact that Harry literally has no reason to be in here right now.

“No,” he shakes his head. “You’re up way too early and bothering me. What time is it?”

Harry blinks with big, owlish eyes, lips thin as he grins. And well, there’s definitely going to be an answer here that Zayn’s not going to like. “Maybe, possibly eight o’clock, but you know.”

He ends his fractured sentence with a shrug like it’s not a big deal, but that doesn’t stop Zayn’s eyebrows from shooting up into his hairline. “You better have a good reason. I want to sleep.”  Whether he sounds whiny or not, doesn’t matter because really, it’s _eight_ in the morning, and Zayn’s not okay with being coherent right now.

“Right, okay.” Harry wiggles around some, settling onto the bed with his legs crossed. He doesn’t intend to get any closer to Zayn, and that’s probably a good thing. Harry knows better, and his actions show it. “What’s this?” the curly-haired little fucker asks, suddenly moving something into their line of vision.

Zayn looks down at it and finds that it’s a wallet, and as much as he could claim it’s not his (because indeed, it isn't), Harry would know the moment the lie escaped his mouth. “Where the hell did you get that?” he decides to ask instead. Maybe it’ll draw some attention away from Harry’s questions. Snooping through Zayn’s stuff isn’t nice, and quite frankly, that’s a bigger problem than where the bloody wallet came from.

Zayn makes a move for the item, had forgotten about it the moment he stepped foot into the flat. Sure, he’d been tempted to open it at the dinner table with Liam (which, remembering that name leaves Zayn cringing mentally), but he hadn’t done it afterwards either.

However, Harry’s faster than Zayn will ever be, and he pulls the wallet back from his friend’s grasp. “Honestly, though. I know you; we don’t keep secrets, Zayn. Did you forget you’re flat broke, or did you rob a convenience store?”

He tries one more time to reach for the wallet, but Harry manages to escape him by clambering off the bed and smiling something wicked. “Like, I need to know this stuff, yeah? There’s nearly three grand in here!” Waving the item around, his eyes go a bit wide as if to make a bigger point than he already has.

“What?” Zayn deadpans, following suit and getting off the bed to get closer to Harry. “Why the hell are you going through my things, anyway? Where’d you find this?” He manages to reach it this time, but that’s mostly because Harry lets him take it.

In the end, he still ignores Zayn’s questions and continuing on with his own wild thoughts of Zayn thieving for the sake of staying stable. “Are you on the run from the cops?” Harry asks slowly, and the light in his eyes shifts to something fierce, a storyboard within his imagination creating a detailed reenactment of the possible situation Zayn might’ve been in. “Cuz like, I’m not sure I’m down with helping you escape. And Veronica,” Harry snorts, “won’t be happy with you either, and you _know_ her.”

Zayn grimaces and shoves at Harry’s shoulder. “Shut the fuck up for a second, will you?” he demands. He’s already unzipping the wallet in order to get to what’s inside. Zayn ends up with a wad of cash in very nimble fingers, thumbing through the stack of bills. And it’s— _yeah_. One-hundred dollar bills grace Zayn’s line of vision, and the longer he stares at it, the more he can’t feel or hear anything other than the sound of blood rushing through his ears.

“—keep this a secret. You can’t do that because I’m not saying I’m going to _tell_ Veronica, but I’m pretty goddamn sure she’s going to want to have a word with you if she—”

“You’re not going to tell her shit,” Zayn interrupts sharply. It’s clear as day that Harry’s startled by the sudden tone in his voice, his shoulders sagging and eyes deflating the moment he realizes just how serious Zayn is.

“Shit, man. What the fuck did you do?”

So, here’s the thing, Zayn and Harry are best friends. Harry’s always been a little more mainstream, a lot more lax when it comes to situations and their friendship. But, Harry’s always had a knack for taking things to heart, and it’s no surprise that he looks a little wounded that Zayn would keep him out of the loop.

“I might’ve went on a date that neither of you would approve of,” Zayn starts off with, turning around, only clad in his boxers before he takes a seat on the edge of his bed. It’s easier to just admit it all now rather than later. He’s not going to tell his sister. No fucking way is that going to happen, but he knows he’s going to have to confide in someone, and that someone is Harry because despite Harry being eccentric and worried half the time about his wellbeing, he’s respectful.

“And why would you go and do a thing like that?”

If there’s one thing to be grateful for about all of this, it’s the fact that Harry very rarely gets angry about much. His tolerance is sky high, and Zayn kind of feels terrible for snapping at him.

“Because,” Zayn reasons with a shrug.

“Is this you trying to prove something?”

Zayn takes the question into consideration, and well, that’s difficult to answer. In a way, maybe so, but not really. Zayn’s just— well fuck, he doesn’t know how to label any of it. It all _feels_ right, but right now, there are no words there to help get that point across.

“He’s, you know, a nice lad—”

Harry curses under his breath before he takes a seat next to Zayn. Their thighs touch, and Harry knocks their knees together to gain his attention. “I’m not going to tell you you’re an idiot because that’s a bit unfair.” And he clicks his tongue before sighing. “Although, Veronica _is_ going to have your head if she finds out you went out with a man twice your age, Zayn. And don’t play dumb with me either because I know that’s exactly what you did. You’re not that discreet.”

Zayn snorts and shakes his head. “He’s not _that_ old actually.” He thinks he should be able to feel some amount of shame crawl over his skin, but it’s not there, and that’s all right with him. “And I meant what I said. Veronica’s _not_ going to find out. She’s my sister, not my mother.”

“Okay,” Harry sniffs. “Okay, but you’re going to have to own up to it sooner or later. Whether she, I dunno, _gets_ it or not is going to be interesting—”

“You say it like you understand.”

Again, Harry shrugs slowly which is a clear indication that while he’s being severely lenient with Zayn, he doesn’t really get any of it, at all. “I know you suggested something like it before, but if this is about money, Zayn, you know we always figure it out.”

With that little mention, Zayn remembers the cash in his hand. Surprisingly, it’s not burning a hole through his palm like he thinks it ought to, but it’s a nice weight, a little surreal to be seeing this kind of cash up close and personal. It’s a lot, though, way more than what Zayn expected. Hell, he thought his _treat_ had been showing up to dinner and having it paid for. Little did he know that Liam would be this generous with him. Granted, it’s off limits until he buys himself a suit, but still.

However, Harry’s kind of right about the money _and_ about Zayn mentioning the idea of being nothing more than a babe, and Zayn would be a fool not to admit that. They’re close, the three of them, but not close enough that he’d like to reveal all aspects of himself. Mainly that included who he decided to take to bed. Surely, they didn’t want to hear of it either, but then again, they care, and it’d be rude of Zayn to tell them to fuck off and mind their own businesses. Even if it’s not all that ideal to be paraded around like a piece of arm candy, have some money spent on him, all the while fulfilling his needs in bed, none of this was a bad trade off, not in Zayn’s mind, at least. He knows how it looks, how it sounds, and it’s why he’d been more than happy to keep his dinner date to himself. Maybe it wasn’t smart keeping both of the people he trusted in the dark, but Harry’s words ring true again, and Zayn’s not looking for people to understand him. All he wants is some form of approval.

“It’s—” Zayn begins, but he cuts himself off trying to find exactly what he wants to say. The only thing that really troubles him is the fact that Harry would walk out of here dissatisfied with Zayn’s decisions, tell Veronica and have that whole mess to deal with. But, he’s never been one to lie to Harry, of all people, so Zayn gives himself up. “That’s part of it, yeah, but it’s more than that, I think.”

Harry bites at his lip, and that only means that there’s a comment he wishes to say that Zayn won’t like. So, Zayn waits until Harry comes to the conclusion that he might as well. They’re in the discussion now; there’s no point in waiting until later. “Being exploited? You’re telling me that’s what you enjoy?” Again, Harry’s teeth find his lip, and there’s a rush of guilt with his thoughts, but Zayn thinks that’s okay. It’s only fair.

All of it sounds like accusations, but ultimately, Zayn knows that Harry means well. His big, green, sorry eyes prove it because he looks at everything like a curious child and no more than a concerned friend. “I’m not,” Zayn shakes his head. “It’s not as if I don't know what I’m getting into, and I purposefully signed myself for it, didn’t I? There’s a difference.”

Whether that’s enough of an explanation, Zayn’s just going to have to let it be, especially when Harry relents and nods. “Still don’t get it, not really, but I guess there’s no harm in trying, is there?” Part of his curly hair falls into his face just before he runs a hand through it so it’s out of the way. “Besides, if you’re getting that kind of cash—”

“I’m not allowed to use it yet,” Zayn interrupts, but there’s a growing smile on each of their faces. “Liam said I have to wait; he wants me to go to some gala thing with him. Need a suit.” The money’s still in his hand, but Zayn decides to put it away, and as he does so, zipping it back up, he wonders if he should put it away. Out of sight, out of mind until the time comes where he’s going to spend some of it.

Harry, however, absorbs this information, eyes sparkling a little more than normal now that they’re out of serious talk. “Really?” he purrs. “Liam? That’s his name?” He looks almost thoughtful about it, like he’s imagining just who this guy is. That had been Zayn just prior to the dinner, but now that he knows exactly what the other man looks like, he’s glad to say that he’s out of that wonder.

“Mr. Payne, actually.”

Sucking on the inside of his cheek, Harry crooks an eyebrow. “Is he gonna make you call him that?”

And Zayn, somewhere along the way, makes an indignant noise while Harry bursts into laughter.

“Who’s the asshole now, huh?”

Arrays of teeth are shown, and Harry probably feels proud of himself, but Zayn knows it’s all in good fun, so he’ll deal with it. Harry’s always been the one to alleviate tension, and Zayn’s just grateful he has him in his life.

“Well?”

His want for an answer probably doesn’t lie with the last question he asked, rather it comes from the need for details, and Zayn’s kind of grows bashful. “Smitten,” he admits, and God, the blushes across his cheeks is probably so noticeable. He can only imagine his eyes sparkling, all in wonder. “Just for fun, though.”

“That’s not all, and you know it. Wow, one meeting, and he’s got you stuttering. Besides,” Harry continues, “you can still think he’s hot without getting involved.”

Zayn squeaks when Harry pokes his side, and he’s trying so hard not to say anything, but he remembers the kiss Liam left him with, just his gentle touch, and Zayn kind of sighs like a girl with a crush. “He’s, yeah, alright,” he says. “Harry, he’s _gorgeous_. You don’t understand.” And he probably needs someone to slap him out of his daze, think he's an idiot for getting all lose and dream-like when recalling Mr. Payne, but Harry’d been truthful. Zayn’s allowed to think Liam’s hot. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than the business they’ve set up.

Harry snickers at Zayn as he stands up, placing the wallet on his dresser and wanting to wait until Harry leaves before he does something with it. Their time together will be coming to an end anyway because Zayn knows that Harry has work in about an hour, especially since it’s got to be at least twenty minutes after eight. Veronica’s already left, working an early shift, and Zayn’s thankful he won’t be here later. Enduring a cranky Veronica is never anything pleasant.

“Well, I guess if he seems okay…” Harry trails off but stands from the bed, too. It’s his way of giving Zayn his trust, but the hardness around his eyes do show that if anything happens—

“You’ll be the first to know if things go south, yeah? Wouldn’t be telling you all this now if you didn’t matter.”

Harry’s lips thin, and while he still looks a little unsure, he nods. The benefit of the doubt means a lot to Zayn, and what he told his best friend, he meant. Zayn hates throwing around false reassurances.

“Don't think I'd care to know that much," Harry jokes with a smile. "I’ll keep my mouth shut for as long as I can." And he says it like it’s the last thought on his mind. The clock is definitely ticking; he’ll have to leave in just a few minutes, and they both know it. “But you should consider telling Veronica, then.”

But Zayn shakes his head. “That’s the last thing I’m going to be doing. Maybe once all of this is a little more stable.”

“She’s going to figure it out,” Harry murmurs. “You two may argue from time to time, but she’s not an idiot, and you know she’ll be more upset because you lied.”

And Harry’s right. It’s not that Zayn doesn’t trust his sister, or his family, after all, but just because she’s seven minutes older doesn’t make her the boss. She’s always looked out for Zayn, for their family, mostly because she had no other choice. However, Zayn’s pretty sure he’s old enough to handle himself and take care of his family, would very much like to get a grip on his situation before he even _thinks_ about talking to her.

“In due time,” Zayn promises, and he tries to look sincere because it’s not a clear answer, not like Harry’s looking for. That’s okay though, it’s enough to get Harry to drop it.

With that, Harry makes to exit the room and finally give Zayn his privacy, let him get back to sleep or choose to have the morning all to himself. However, just before Harry leaves, Zayn worries at his lip and calls out for him. He hadn’t meant to; his hands are by his sides, curled up into tight fists, clenching and unclenching every so often. “You promise you won’t tell her,” he finds himself asking, and while everything before should’ve been enough to satisfy Zayn, apparently there’s a deep part of him that needs to hear it straight from Harry, that he won’t —in explicit detail— tell Veronica a thing, not even hint at it.

“Zayn—” And there’s a warning in Harry’s voice, like this is ridiculous for them to be here still.

“It’s not just about her being upset,” he explains. “We need the money.” Blinking does nothing for him; Zayn may have the eyelashes and a pouty lip, but Harry’s always been able to see past it. “ _Mum_ needs the money. Insurance isn’t going to cover everything, and Veronica’s already working her arse off as it is.”

Harry goes a little soft at that statement, knows Zayn and Veronica’s situation. However, he looks like he’s arguing with himself on which sibling he should side with. He’s never been good at that decision, the both of them with Harry wrapped around their fingers. The most logical choice, though, would be Veronica, not Zayn, but he’s _asking_ this of Harry, and that should mean something. “We don’t even know if anything’s wrong.”

But Zayn waves off his comment. He’s not going to get emotional right now; he won’t do that here, but still; the air is now thick with a different kind of tension, one that could lead to more of an actual argument. “I need to be prepared, just in case.”

Harry doesn’t say anything else, he must have seen something in the way Zayn was looking at him, though because he gives Zayn tight-lipped smile, Harry’s eyes express sympathy. Zayn’s won this time.

Harry now knows everything. Zayn had given his reasons for his decision before, but now that he’s played the ill mother card, it would’ve only been a matter of time before Harry caved. He hadn’t lied to Harry when he told him about liking men, sometimes _older_ men. And certainly, he hadn’t led Harry astray when he said they needed the money; however, exactly what it’ll be used for has now been made abundantly clear.

He hadn’t meant to give that away, but now that he has, and now that Harry has gone, Zayn realizes it’d been the right thing to do. Mostly, Zayn just likes knowing that while his life is a constant thrum of unexpected events, those most unfortunate, thrown in with bits of negativity along the way, at least there’s someone out there who can give him what he needs.

His family gives him love. Harry gives him support.

But Liam? Well, he needs Liam to give Zayn control, stability.

He’s craved for balance for so long.

+

Zayn’s pretty sure that if this wasn’t a high-end suit, it’d be downright itchy, but the black fabric is soft and snuggles to his frame. Still though, that doesn’t stop him from wanting to tug at the collar and mess with his tie. Instead, he settles for rolling his shoulders, trying to get a feel for the suit draped around his body. He’s nervous. He bought it the day before, just like Liam told him to. All he had to do was walk in, rattle off Liam’s name and from there, it seemed like everything was being done for him.

It had unsettled him a little bit, having to handle over a good chunk of his cash, not because he’d miss it, but Zayn never dreamed of his first big purchase happening like this.

Either way, he’d been given a receipt that promised his suit would be ready before the night of the gala, and true to the store’s word, it’d happened. Zayn had gotten a knock on the door, a box practically shoved into his face Saturday morning. All that had been left was to sit around and wait for further instructions from Liam.

The older man had told Zayn he’d pick him up at seven, and well, Zayn figures that Liam’s the kind of man who never breaks his promises.

Now, though, they’re standing in a crowded room full of all kinds of people. There’s a few similarities, though, men in suits, women in dresses, some old, some young. People pass him left and right, and the only thing keeping him grounded right now is the fact that he’s got his arm curled around Liam’s because the other man seems to know exactly what to do.

Thing is, Liam hadn’t given Zayn any instructions on how to act tonight, how these things play out. The only good piece of information he’d settled Zayn with was back when they were in the car. Liam explicitly told him, “Everyone who works with me, all the way down to some of my associates will think we’re dating,” and he’d kept looking out of the window, not really bothering to lower his voice because of the driver, or give Zayn a glance, “so I hope you’re a good actor. However, outside of our fronts, this is still business, understand?”

Zayn had given Liam a measly _okay_ that really did nothing to calm his nerves.

So, yeah, Zayn’s definitely not afraid to admit that he feels like a fucking fish amidst a room of sharks. Everyone looks a little intimidating, and the only person he actually knows here tonight is practically a stranger. And yes, Zayn’s a little sarcastic about this because he’d gotten himself into the predicament, but he figured he could handle this part. He’d talked himself into money and sex but actually dealing with these people? Yeah, that wasn’t really on his list.

Although, he supposes, something might come out of tonight, and that leaves him in anticipation. He’s certainly not going to question Liam about that in a room full of people; he’ll wait until later to see if well, anything’s going to go down between them. That, Zayn can handle for sure.

However, right now, Liam’s being pulled into a group of people, and by extension, Zayn gets tugged along as well. He’s got a glass of champagne in his hand; it tastes fucking awful compared to the cheap shit he’s used to, and then there’s the fact he’s practically hanging off of Liam’s arm.

“And who’s this?”

Zayn finds blue eyes and brightly painted red lips staring at him. They’re in a circle of people, and half of them have their eyes on Zayn while the others are focused on Liam. Another fact is that while Zayn expects Liam to stutter out an explanation of why he brought along a stranger, a hand finds its way across his back, settles just at the base of his spine. Liam leans into him, and there is no sign of rigidness in his posture. He’s relaxed, and Zayn figures if anyone’s going to blow their cover, it’s going to be him.

So, Zayn tries to play into what Liam told him earlier, play the part of a loved up couple by smiling gently and allowing Liam to rub soft circles into his back. “This is Zayn,” he murmurs, voice low. Somehow it’s heard over the chatter of people all around them.

He tries to look a bit bashful, but surely he doesn’t have to strive hard for that because Zayn does, in fact, blush at the mention of his name. And it’s ridiculous really, to be so mousy like this, when everything is perfectly fine, but Zayn doesn’t think he’s ever been the center of attention, and so far, he’s definitely not liking it.

“He was kind enough to accompany me tonight. You know how awfully,” and he pauses, sends a little grin Zayn’s way before he dips his head and finishes with, “ _uneventful_ these things can be.”

A round of laughter echoes around them, and they may or may not draw attention to their little circle. Thing is, Zayn finds himself joining in. Really, it’s not all that funny considering the fact that no, he isn’t aware of how these events are like, but following along seems acceptable especially since everyone else is joining in.

“Surely you don’t think that, Liam,” someone —the women who’d stared at Zayn before, he thinks— says.

She’s not finished speaking yet, but the moment Liam’s name is said, Zayn feels the squeeze to his hip. He startles, not enough to draw attention to him now, but he does glance up at Liam and finds a tight-lipped smile there. It’s a little predatory, if he’s honest, and not in the naughty kind of way. Zayn thinks Liam might actually bite the woman if he wasn’t so set on being formal.

“Last time you were at one of these, stocks went up a good fifteen percent, and I saw the papers, dear,” she waves a finger for emphasis, eyes a little big and she recalls something from the past, “no one here left without knowing who you are.”

Liam’s polite smile remains in place. It doesn’t feel like a genuine smile, his eyes are cold, and Zayn feels like offering to get rid of it, but the only way he’d know how to do that is kiss him. Liam’s posture feels slightly stiff next to his, something obviously struck a nerve.

Maybe it’s just the first time Zayn’s realizing that having wealth has it’s downfalls, and while he could compare day and night to his situations to Liam’s, it feels like misery visits everybody regardless of social status and wealth.

“Surely, it’ll be that way this time, too,” the woman remarks. Liam kindly excuses himself away with Zayn on tow. He expects Liam to be a little rough since he seems a bit perturbed, but he isn’t. Liam takes it in stride, finds his own glass of champagne and mingles about the party like nothing happened.

During this time, Zayn finds himself ignored, and all it is the perfect opportunity to not only people watch, but to kind of slip off into his thoughts. It’s not like there’s a lot there at the moment, wanting to be aware of his surroundings and what’s going on, but honestly, Zayn’s not quite sure how far he’d be able to keep up with any of the conversations going on tonight. Zayn would like to believe he’s not an idiot, but sometimes profit margins are brought up, some investments, and controls, and billings, and where fund money is going to come from, how much money is being pushed towards investments like advertising.

In the general sense, it all sounds familiar, but when there are heated discussions, he ends up lost within the first five minutes. He watches the way Liam interacts with everyone, though. The older man can surely feel Zayn’s gaze upon him, but he makes no mention of it. They don’t speak to each other much, not when Liam’s the center of attention as they pass through throngs of people, group after group, quick hellos and goodbyes, kisses on the cheek, compliments galore.

It’s a blur of faces, and Liam remains solid and firm with everyone he meets, smiling, and seemingly genuine. Zayn, unfortunately, notices the way Liam’s smile falls perceptively as the time passes. Zayn’s spent too much time observing Liam, far toomuch.

There is no time kept, and Zayn doesn’t have a watch. He’s too eager to pull out his phone, but no one else is using one, so he keeps it in his pocket so he doesn’t look out of place. Grabbing Liam’s wrist sounds appealing as well considering he’s wearing one. He won’t because that would be rude and awkward, but it’s silver and probably a little too large for a man like Liam. It only makes Zayn cock an eyebrow and wonder if it’s really true that some men overcompensate.

And then that leads to a few other thoughts, and Zayn then has to pull himself right back around to something innocent.

That is until Liam actually manages to get them to an area of the room where they can finally breathe. His hand still rests against Zayn’s back, and he deposits his empty champagne glass on a table before taking the time to straighten out the front of his suit. “Probably should’ve given you the heads up on how tonight would be. Wasn’t expecting so many people. I apologize.”

Zayn actually snorts before downing the rest of his drink, passing it off to Liam he looks a little off from his gesture. Liam’s not wounded by being brushed off, but Zayn realizes that oh, he actually means he’s sorry. “What?” he scrunches up his nose. “Why? There’s no way you could’ve known.”

Liam shrugs and looks like he wants to correct Zayn on that, that maybe he’s used to these kinds of gatherings, enough to know that people flood the building with great intent.

“At least you kept yourself from looking bored,” Liam reasons. “Impressed me with that.”

Pursing his lips, Zayn kind of wants to shake his head at that, but he refrains. “Thought it was part of my job to make you look good?”

Liam’s left with a smile, licking his lips before he says, “No, I can do that myself.”

And part of Zayn tries not feel hurt by that. It’d done him a bit of good to keep in mind that he’d be helping Liam, but if that’s not the case, then there goes that slight amount of fantasy that let Zayn believe he was kind of important.

However, Liam nudges Zayn, and he must notice a look that crosses Zayn’s face because his smile widens, the smug bastard. “However,” he goes on to say, “you do make me look _better_.”

Zayn’s brow furrows like that’s truly hard to believe, but now that he can tell Liam looks a little impressed, Zayn feels that puffiness in his chest, the kind birds go for to make themselves seem a little more prideful. “Really?” He’s meant to come off as something sly, but as soon as he asks that, Zayn finds that he doesn’t really sound that way at all. Instead, it’s a little breathless, like he’s looking for something, some confirmation that Liam’s not just lying to him.

Liam must notice this because his eyes light up. It’s something quick, and no one would probably notice unless they were looking, but Zayn does because Liam’s the only one that really matters right now. They’re in ideal talk right now, but no matter the conversation, Zayn’s just grateful to have someone entertain him for the time being.

“You like praise.”

It’s a simple, straight-to-the-point kind of statement, but it makes Zayn freeze for just a moment. It’s an offhand comment, really, and Zayn doesn’t feel upset by it, but the sinking realization that Liam’s been paying keen attention to Zayn as well doesn’t fail in making him weak in the knees. And it’s not because there’s feelings involved, but more so from the fact that however much Liam’s been around the dating pool, he’s still who he is, a man who’s gotten into a position of power, not only because he knew what he wanted, but more than likely he’d been able to read people.

Perhaps Zayn had been foolish in thinking that they would have to eventually talk, steer Liam in the right direction when it came time for more than just casual parties. But now that Zayn has been stilted with such thoughts, maybe that’s something he’s going to have to get used to. Zayn has his own reasons on why he’s with Liam, and he guesses he still has to get used to the idea of giving himself over.

“Maybe,” he murmurs. It’s not like he’s given it a lot of thought, either, though. Sure, Zayn likes to know that he’s doing well, that he’s on the right track with things, hates people looking down at him, and if that results in going out of his way to be nice so people notice his efforts, well, that’s okay with him.

Liam, however, doesn’t argue with that, and while they stand in silence a few moments longer, Zayn’s just beginning to wonder —and is on the edge of asking, even— when they’ll be diving back into the crowd, if Liam’s plan is to stand here and look pretty for the rest of the evening. Or, he could be waiting on someone, but then Liam’s hand is falling away from his waist, and Zayn realizes just how much contact they’d been having. It’s not that he feels cold, but it’s odd not having Liam right there next to him when he’d been so the entire night.

“How about I prove it to you, then?”

Zayn casts a glance up at Liam. He’s not looking at Zayn, rather focused on the crowd, but his full attention is on the younger man, no doubt. “Prove what?” And Zayn thinks he knows, kind of. He’s just not used to speaking in riddles with no explanations other than questions and vague answers. None of it scares him, however, and when Liam finally does look at him, he holds out a hand.

“Let me show you something.”

So, it seems he’s quite adamant on Zayn following willingly.

Zayn would protest, and maybe he’s an idiot, but he takes the hand offered and tells Liam to, “Lead the way.”

As soon as their fingers are intertwined, Liam’s hand warmer and gentler than Zayn would’ve thought possible, he easily moves them through the crowd of people. They try to circle around all of them rather than walking through conversations. Sometimes it can’t be helped, and few give them odd looks. However, Zayn’s sure that Liam (although he can’t see him since he’s following) is sending them all apologetic smiles, looks so at ease as they gather themselves and walk towards the entrance that is now their exit.

Liam leads Zayn out of the room until they’re standing in the lobby. The place is quite spacious, some kind of convention center meant to host parties like this one tonight. There are a series of hallways to the left and right, and Liam glances both ways, even checks to see if Zayn is still behind him even though their hands are still linked together.

At some point, Zayn expects Liam to head straight for the doors so that they’re outside, but that’s not the case when Liam finally feels comfortable enough to move. His stuttering decision probably had to do with the few people milling about until Liam decided they weren’t important enough to walk away from. Rather, Liam doesn’t do as Zayn expects, and he starts towards their left. The walk seems a bit tedious, they pass a few people here and there, but while they glance over at Zayn, they don’t bat an eyelash and remove their stare as quickly as they’d given it to him.

Liam continues on, though, not in any rush, but not walking slow enough so that Zayn can get a hold of his surroundings. The hallway is quite large where several doors are on either side. Some have labels, others don’t, but Zayn never gets a good look to read what any of them say.

Eventually, they bring themselves towards the end, and just when Zayn’s about to open his mouth and tell Liam that there’s no other way for them to go, he notices that there’s a left turn and another hallway, and Liam’s pulling him that way too.

Briefly, Zayn glances around the corner to the lobby, mentally waves goodbye to all those people because literally, there’s no one over on this side. They don’t go far, not like Zayn thinks they will because then Liam’s pulling Zayn around to a door with a very clear label on it.

Zayn pauses, his palm a little sweaty now that it’s been in Liam’s for so long, but he makes no gesture to break it. Instead, he glances up at the plaque on the wall, eyebrows smoothing, eyes questioning as he takes in the little stick figure that indicates the men’s restroom.

He almost snorts. Almost. But Zayn refrains and waits until Liam gives a sheepish smile before pushing the door open. Zayn, however, stalls, and stops Liam with his words. “An exhibitionist, really?”

Liam turns around until his back is pressed up against the door, looks to his left and right again just to make sure there’s no one there (there isn’t), and then he’s giving Zayn a tilt of his head and a challenge within his tone. “Who said I was going to do anything?”

Well, if Zayn recalls, Liam had back there in a room full of people, eager to show Zayn something. Zayn’s not naive enough to dismiss any innuendos, but this had kind of been the last place he expected. Certainly, it’s not that he isn’t impressed but, “Unless the toilets are made out of gold, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing in here you’d need to show me.” He spits back Liam’s words with just the right amount of snark, and then soon after, he thinks he can spot the simple blush across Liam’s cheeks.

“You going to join me,” Liam presents, “or do we need to go out to the car?”

Zayn’s decision (and the fact that he even has one is kind of great) should be a no-brainer because if they were to go back to the car, he’s pretty damn sure the driver wouldn’t be pleased with having to listen in on them getting frisky. The bathroom isn’t much of an option Zayn would’ve chosen, but Liam seems to know what he’s doing, knows what he wants, too, if the way he’s looking at Zayn is any indication. “What are you planning on doing?” The question rolls off his tongue and out of his mouth before he can stop himself. The way Liam arches a brow means more than he’s letting on, and Zayn can’t help himself when he walks a little closer to Liam with intent. He’s steady, voice low because they really don’t need to be carried louder; no one needs to know that they’re even there.

“Dunno yet,” Liam murmurs, and it’s probably the first time Zayn notices Liam’s eyelashes, how they’re light brown in color, makes him seem a little hazy when his gaze flicks down over Zayn’s face. He then uses the force of his body to push the door back even further, stepping away from Zayn.

It gives the younger man the perfect opportunity to glance inside, and while he should wrinkle his nose at the fact that something is about to go down in the goddamn _restroom_. Fuck.

Finally, Liam lets go of Zayn. He doesn’t drag him forward like Zayn thinks he should, nor as he gestures for Zayn to walk in. Instead, he reaches for Zayn’s neck, resting the palm of his hand against his skin, thumb rubbing the square of his jaw. “How about something simple?”

The movement is quite quick, and Zayn doesn’t really mean to turn into Liam’s touch, but he finds that he’s already done that, eyes probably a little darker than normal, nearly dilated from arousal, as he lets Liam play intimate. “Y-yeah,” he breathes, and it’s weird, this sudden feeling that blankets him. Whether it’s Liam’s touch, or the way he’s looking at Zayn, like he’s trying to coax words out of him, he doesn’t actually know. Although, it does unfurl something in his belly, makes him pay attention to the way Liam glances at him, _over_ him, patiently.

Soon enough, Liam’s hand falls away from Zayn, and now that they’re both standing in the threshold of the door, Zayn follows Liam as he makes his way further into the room. Maybe he’s a little eager following in Liam’s footsteps, but the door shuts behind him, Liam locking it before he’s crowding Zayn against the door.

His entire mouth goes dry all of a sudden, has to lick his lips, and Zayn kind of likes it. The bathroom, while it isn’t stuffy, it’s not really all that cool either, doesn’t help when Liam is pressed up close to him, hand gravitating towards Zayn’s waist. He’s careful with his touches, precise and easy. “You were so good for me tonight, though, weren’t you?”

Zayn’s tempted to press their lips together since they’re so close, but he’s got a feeling Liam wouldn’t have that, would probably hold his jaw in his hand, squeeze until Zayn complied not to make a move. The thought alone makes him whimper, and that would definitely draw Liam’s attention if he didn’t already have it. “I’m hardly wrong, aren’t I?” Liam asks softly, the question rhetorical. “Already told you how good you were, how impressed I was. Maybe I should move on to how well you clean up nicely?”

He glances down at Zayn’s suit, even pulls on the lapels to make a point. While Zayn follows his line of vision, all he sees is black and white, nothing out of the ordinary. He’s just Zayn, a young man who just so happened to attend a gala where everything was way over his head. “Just a rent boy, really,” Zayn comments. He hadn’t meant to come across as self-deprecating, and he grimaces at his own words, wishes to apologize before Liam’s shaking his head.

“No,” he disagrees. “I’d say you were the main attraction.”

Zayn finally snorts and ends up covering his mouth with the back of his hand because right; as far as Zayn knew no one had given him the time of day, and while he tends to drift off into his thoughts sometimes, he couldn’t’ve been that oblivious to people staring at him.

“Never even realized, did you?” Liam offers, he takes a step back with his hands in his pocket now before there’s some kind of shadow in his eye that just wants to prove everything Zayn’s said, wrong. “How does that make you feel, hmm? Knowing there were other men wanting you, standing next to their wives while they fought off those thoughts?”

Liam probably doesn’t mean to offend, is only stating what Zayn hadn’t noticed. Although, while it’s flattering to have people like him to some degree, that doesn’t mean he’s all that impressed with impure thoughts by men he hasn’t even met before. And maybe that shouldn’t count as a lick of surprise because "entitlement" is all Zayn would ever use to describe more than half the people in that room. He’d tried to be polite as he could be, done a good job of masking his grimaces with fake handshakes and tight smiles, played a simple part for Liam’s sake.

“Like,” Zayn bites his lip and looks a little indignant, “dirty.”

“Really?” Liam softly laughs. “But you’ll let me use you?”

Zayn’s jaw may tense at Liam’s question, but there’s no room for protest when Liam’s suddenly leading him away from the door. He’s not really shoved in front of the mirror, maybe a little manhandled as Liam turns him around to face the mirror. Liam’s pushed up behind Zayn, both hands on his hips, and then he’s murmuring in Zayn’s ear, the slick of his breath ghosting the shell of it. He feels a little more pliant now, especially when he looks ahead and finds Liam staring down at him. “Can you blame them?” he asks. “Can you blame _me_?”

Rather than any of Zayn’s features, Liam settles for looking at him as a whole while Zayn tries to piece together Liam’s observant nature. It’s not that he’s angry, per se, but he’d never come here with the intention of being mentally undressed by strangers. Sure, arm candy is fine by him, but the audacity of some? Zayn feels his stomach curl while he presses back into Liam. At least he’s _safe_.

“Did you bring me here to make them jealous?” Zayn reasons. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. Liam had plenty of company tonight, and now he’s realizing he’d been the bonus.

“Everyone wants what they can’t have.” His offer of an answer is true, not exactly anything Zayn would’ve liked to hear, but he finds that he actually doesn’t mind it. Looking is one thing, but touching is another, and Liam probably felt powerful in his position, knowing that he did, in fact, have something no one else could.

All it does is send a nerve of thrill down his spine.

However, Zayn does try to reason, doesn’t actually want to play into Liam’s idea that he’s actually a wanted man. Zayn hadn’t done anything but show up tonight, and maybe he’s playing too much into logic tonight. “But I didn’t really do much. I just stood there without a clue in the world what you were talking about.”

Liam tsks, pressing his cheek close to Zayn’s while he stares at him through the mirror. “My little bird,” he says tenderly with a sprinkling of affection, “you didn’t flounder like I thought you would, isn’t that enough?”

Zayn doesn’t think so, and he reminds himself of what he thought of earlier, that he shouldn’t have Liam pull teeth just to get himself to relent.

However, Liam’s coming to his own realization, and Zayn feels that truth deep down to his core. “You don’t take compliments all that well even though you want them.”

Stating it like that makes him sound vain, but Zayn’s not looking for accolades regarding his looks, no. Zayn just likes reassurance when he knows he’s done enough to deserve them. “I didn’t do anything—” he tries to repeat himself.

Apparently, the first time hadn’t had enough emphasis, but then Liam is swooping in again with a squeeze to Zayn’s hip and something stern across his features. “So, that’s it then,” he marvels like he’s finally figured where to go from here. “You need incentive to make you believe.”

Zayn wants to argue with him and tell him that, no, he really doesn’t, but Liam doesn’t leave him any room to speak when he trails his fingers over Zayn’s belt buckle. He pauses, makes sure that Zayn’s blatantly looking at him before he actually does anything further. “Promised I’d prove it to you, right? You’ll let me?”

And if that’s not asking for permission, Zayn doesn’t know what is. He gives a firm nod, though, doesn’t really know what Liam has planned for them, but he’s willing to go for. It seems like Liam’s got something to prove here, and Zayn’s not about to stand in his way.

Quickly enough, Liam loosens Zayn’s belt enough to drop his trousers down around his ankles, and while Zayn chews on his lip more out of the fact that all of this might be a little too unsanitary, Liam’s thumbing the waistband of his boxers, and all of him is pulled away from his hesitations instantly.

A sly grin is easily placed upon Liam’s lips. Zayn’s not quite sure why, but judging by how antsy he’s getting —Liam’s fingers dancing across Zayn’s hipbones, light brushes that intently send blood rushing to his prick— he’s only trying to tease. “Should probably give you the chance to tell me what you want.”

Yet, Zayn’s tongue is thick in his mouth, so intensely dry that he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to open it to speak. And he’s correct in his assumptions. They sit in silence, and Liam does wait patiently until he gets the hint that Zayn’s thrumming with unspoken energy, heat coursing his veins.

“How about this,” Liam proposes, “I’ll make a move and you shake your head if you want me to keep going.” He sounds rather pleased with himself, and Zayn can feel the blush on his cheeks from already losing his words.

But then none of it matters as Liam slowly removes his boxers, gets them around Zayn’s thighs before his fingers are trailing up his skin ever so softly. “Okay?”

Zayn gives a weak nod and faintly realizes that he’s leaning back into Liam’s chest, supporting just a bit of his weight. He’s mostly intent on watching their reflection in the mirror and not on actually including himself in any kind of small talk.

Liam’s hand disappears underneath the bottom of Zayn’s shirt. It’s crisp and white, the tie hanging around his neck is still resting neatly against his frame despite everything else that’s been disturbed. Zayn breathes relatively deeply when he feels Liam brush against him. It’s so faint against his balls, but it’s enough to have him swallow and thin his lips.

Since Liam’s not intending to give him anything until Zayn directs him, he goes for it with a small movement, thrusting his hips forward carefully until more of Liam’s hand is brushing up against him. Zayn’s at least half hard by now, and the breath on his neck certainly isn’t helping his predicament.

Lips soon follow the sensation. Liam’s still not got a hold of him, but he does press his mouth against the part of Zayn’s neck that’s exposed. They’re gently, and Zayn can see it in the mirror, but nothing compares to how it feels. They’re a little wet, probably pink and plush, but they’re warm, and Zayn tilts his head to accommodate Liam, give him some room to play with.

It’s also in that moment that Liam slowly slides his hand exactly where Zayn wants him to, cupping the small swell of his cock from underneath the fabric of his shirt. Zayn’s almost tempted to reach up and gather it in his fist, hold it away from his body so he can see what Liam’s doing rather just feel it, but he doesn’t. Something tells him Liam wouldn’t be happy with that just yet, so he refrains, tries to control himself and just feel.

While Liam still presses soft kisses into Zayn’s neck, and never any further, he mostly directs his attention to Zayn’s balls. He whimpers, misses the heat on his cock but settles for the way Liam carefully kneads the sac. They fit nicely in Liam’s hand, quite heavy and tight. Zayn knows it’s mostly from not having released yet; it’s coming, he knows that, but the touches are so teasing, so eager to feel Zayn, and that’s when he finally whimpers.

Zayn’s teeth find his bottom lip, and Liam’s quick to pull away from his neck, eyeing Zayn in the mirror with a smirk. He doesn’t let up, just carefully rolls Zayn’s balls in his hand, adding a little bit of pressure every so often as he squeezes before releasing.

Eventually, and what Zayn’s completely grateful for, is the movement of his shirt. Liam gathers it in his hand, pulling most of the material up and taught against Zayn’s tummy. All it does is reveal Zayn’s cock, now hard and swollen against his belly. There’s a nice shade of red that stains the tip, not yet to the point of pre-cum, but Zayn knows it won’t be long, knows that the longer he stands here with Liam supporting him like he is, he’s not going to be able to last.

He’s practically standing half naked in the men’s restroom on the upper side of the city. They’re in a quiet part of building, but that doesn’t mean someone won’t come looking. Zayn casts that worry aside, of anyone walking in because he knows the door is locked; yet the thought does something to him. His cock twitches in response, and Liam must notice because he eyes it in the mirror, a look of complete contemplation surpassing any amount of coyness that might’ve been displayed before. “Should probably leave you like this, shouldn’t I?” he reasons. “Might just zip you back up and take you home, let you go inside and wank yourself off.”

Zayn shakes his head, not liking that at all. Liam’s a tease, that’s what he is, and Zayn would curse under his breath, mutter obscenities until Liam complied. But they both know that even if he did, nothing would come of it. Liam would most likely use it as fuel to keep himself from touching Zayn, maybe whisper a few naughty things in his ear before sending Zayn off to his flat only to fall into bed and cum between his bed sheets.

He refrains from speaking still, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t beg with his eyes. In response, Liam just shrugs, thinking that it isn’t a bad idea at all. That is, until Liam slides his hands across Zayn’s sides. He’s keeping Zayn’s shirt gripped tight in his grasp, and all it does is remind Zayn that the fabric is too hot, too uncomfortable at this point in time. It’s not anything he can’t bear, but Liam’s got his hands on Zayn, won’t touch him because he’s too busy with the idea of Zayn getting himself off, and he’s left to stand there waiting for instructions, waiting for _something_ while his prick finally leaks the pre-cum he knew it eventually would.

Gracefully, Liam reaches around and fingers the slit, quite fascinated with the liquid. It’s not enough to bring Zayn any comfort; most of it’s just torture with only having little contact like that. But Zayn mewls and sucks in a breath, and maybe that stirs Liam to be forgiving because he suddenly smiles, and it reminds Zayn of when they’d been back in the restaurant. The crinkle by his eyes don’t show his age, just that boyish charm he still manages to possess. He’s taking Zayn’s hand, carefully inspecting his fingers before he’s helping Zayn smooth his palm flat against his tummy.

“Or,” Liam starts off again, as he helps push the palm of Zayn’s hand down, _down_ , _down_ , “you could just show me.” The arch in his brow asks the question on whether Zayn will protest, but there’s nothing there. Especially as Liam continues. “See, if I send you home, that means _I_ get to go home and picture what you look like. How fair is that?”

Zayn wants to argue and tell him it’s plenty fair if that were the case. But it’s not. Liam’s helping Zayn wrap his fingers around his cock before he’s letting go and gently nudging him to do what he does best. And while his fingers are around his prick, warm and solid, Zayn knows it won’t compare to having someone else’s hands on him, having _Liam’s_ hands on him. However, tonight seems he won’t be allowed that.

Taking his hand off himself, Zayn quickly licks his palm, taking himself in his hand once again. He’s careful the way he positions his arm, doesn’t want his elbow to collide with Liam’s stomach, but surely the other man wouldn’t mind either way. He just told Zayn to put on a show, and Zayn’s kind of determined to do that, if not more on relieving his plight.

His fingers are nimble and quick as he gathers up as much pre-cum as he can, uses that for more slickness around his cock since they’ve got nothing else here to ease himself into this. It’s fine, though; Zayn’s done it before, although it’s better if he has a helping hand via lube.

Zayn reaches back with his free hand, claws at Liam until he gives him some kind of support since he'd rather not lean his weight forward onto the counter. Liam wants to see him, and it wouldn’t do them a lick of good if he bent over just to release.

Liam obliges, wraps an arm across Zayn’s abdomen just to keep him still while he works himself quickly and carefully. It’s not the most amazing hand job he’s given himself; he knows that, but what he does know is that the thought counts more than anything at this point. The first pull of his hand down his shaft nearly has him buckling at the knees, but Liam’s got a grip on him, and he won’t fall.

So, Zayn continues, gently pumping himself into a rhythm, concentrates on moving and adjusting to the feeling of someone watching him. It’s not as difficult as he figured it might be, especially with someone he’s met twice in his life, and maybe that should concern Zayn how easy this comes to him.

It’s a thought for another day though, because as Zayn works himself, careful to watch what he does in the mirror, he lets Liam press his lips against his neck again. He sucks gently at the skin, tonguing the area every so often, and even going up to Zayn’s ear to suck his earlobe. He makes no noise, no mentions of what he’d like from Zayn until he’s constantly jerking himself, each time a little quicker because he can feel the edge of his release rapidly approaching.

“So good,” Liam murmurs. “Isn’t it, Zayn? Want you to tell me.”

Zayn thinks he can get away with just nodding or moaning, but apparently that’s not going to cut it with Liam because he finds that Liam’s other hand wraps itself securely around the base of Zayn’s cock. It’s a little awkward trying to pump himself with a hand in the way, but Liam doesn’t move until he catches Zayn’s eye in the mirror. “Words,” he demands.

“N-nice,” Zayn finally stutters. His voice sounds harsh after not being used for quite a bit, but that seems to settle Liam as he releases Zayn and brings his hand back to his shaft.

Only this time, Liam joins in. While Zayn continues to pump himself, Liam carefully plays with the slit of his cock, sliding a thumb into the slit and rubbing soft circles just underneath it.

Zayn can feel himself trying to catch his breath, becoming increasingly hard to keep himself focused and constant with his movements. Liam’s not helping by being so close, by touching Zayn, by mumbling sweet little encouragements in his ear.

All it takes is Liam’s velvety voice whispering, “C’mon, little bird,” and then Zayn’s gone, spurts of cum leaking from his cock into Liam’s hand, Zayn thrusting his hips gently just to help ride out his orgasm as it completely takes over his body. At some point, he knows he completely slumps back even further into Liam’s body, losing himself to his feelings as they drag all of his senses away. But all of it’s okay because Liam’s got him, is telling him how wonderful he is, how _good_ , and Zayn feels like he’s floating.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there like so, but eventually Liam nudges him, swiping the back of his finger across Zayn’s cheek and over his mouth. And when Zayn opens his eyes, eyelashes fluttering softly as he does so, his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

What he finds there is a bit of a bitter taste, and he grimaces until Liam chuckles. The sink turns on at that point, and Zayn watches as Liam washes off his hand. “You shouldn’t ever miss the opportunity to taste yourself.”

Zayn licks his lips again, and this time, he’s prepared for the taste, makes sure it’s gone off his mouth before he’s satisfied enough to slip out of Liam’s grasp.

His cock is softening by the time Zayn gets his boxers around himself again, and then his trousers. He does his best to tuck in his shirt and buckle his belt without looking completely fucked, but it’s a bit too late for that because even still, Zayn’s cheeks are red and eyes a little glassy.

Eventually, Liam joins him again after having washed up, and at this point, Zayn expects Liam to ask him to return the favor. Zayn even reaches forward to do so before Liam stops him with his hand and shakes his head. “Next time,” he gives Zayn. “Think it’s time to get you home.”

Again, Liam’s the only one with a watch, and Zayn isn’t going to take his phone out right this very moment, so he nods. It sounds like a plan. Part of him is disappointed, had kind of hoped that he’d be able to get Liam off tonight, but he supposes it worked out better this way. At least he knows that Liam’s not just about pleasing himself, and that, for the most part, actually makes Zayn feel a whole lot better.

They end up leaving the bathroom with relative ease. By the time they get back to the lobby, there’s hardly anyone there. It’s easy enough to get into the car, Liam ordering his driver to Zayn’s side of town. The drive is quiet, and Liam doesn’t offer Zayn anything else other than a few brief smiles if they manage to catch each other’s eye.

The events of today are starting to catch up with Zayn, he knows, and it’ll be easy to fall into his bed, hopes that Harry or Veronica hadn’t stayed up and waited on him to get back.

At some point, the car comes to a stop, and Zayn finds himself in front of the building he’s called home for the past several years. He worries at his lip, thinks he ought to say something before slipping out, but then again there’s never going to be a kiss goodbye because that’s not what this is about.

So, Zayn opens the door and intends to step out before Liam’s calling for him. When Zayn turns in his seat, the door still open wide, he finds that Liam does, in fact, look a little tired, too. He’s nowhere near as rumpled up as Zayn knows he looks, but his jacket is unbuttoned, tie abandoned somewhere in the car, and Zayn figures Liam’s going straight home tonight, fall into bed like he is and hope that sleep comes quickly enough.

“Yeah?” he whispers. The driver may or may not be able to hear them, but Zayn thinks that maybe he’s got some kind of contract with Liam. He may see all, but he’ll never be allowed to speak a word of it. Zayn wouldn’t mind that, really. It sounds easy enough, plus he hadn’t even thought about the paycheck it guaranteed.

“What I gave you,” he says, looks a bit reluctant to actually say what _it_ actually is, “it’s yours. Anything left over is yours to use. I’m not going to ask for it back.”

Zayn knows he’s talking about the money. There’s still nearly twelve hundred dollars left in the wallet, and Zayn almost feels guilty for that. Not because he’d spent so much (though that’s part of it), but because the only reason Liam’s letting him have it is because of tonight’s events, including what happened in the bathroom. Zayn hadn’t even attended to Liam’s needs, and he’s already being given that kind of money, and quite frankly, it’s absurd.

He won’t protest though. This is the nature of their business, and Zayn’s going to have to learn to suck it up and appreciate it for all that it’s worth because it’s not going to be around forever. _Liam’s_ not going to be around that long.

So, Zayn shakes his head and doesn’t give Liam another word, and maybe he ought to. He should probably say _thank you_ before he heads out, but when Liam returns his gesture with a quiet smile, Zayn knows that he knows he’s grateful.

With that, he steps out of the car and heads inside without looking back. He does hear the car drive off, and Zayn silently wishes Liam a goodnight.

+

Despite the week that’s gone by, Zayn never touches the money that Liam had given him. He thinks about it from time to time, mostly when he’s at work and he’s busy restocking the shelves. But other than that, he does his best to keep it an afterthought.

Though, the main reason he _has_ thought about it isn’t because he’s so ready to use it, no. Zayn’s mostly been caught up with wondering how in the world he’s going to give Veronica the money without her demanding to know where it’d come from. Zayn can’t say he’s good at lying, especially when it comes to his sister, but for once, he wishes that Veronica would keep her mouth shut and just take things without interrogating him.

That’s not how it’ll go down, but Zayn likes to dream.

He hasn’t really thought of any plausible explanations. The closest one he’s come to is splitting the money up. Give Veronica three-hundred, claim it as a bonus he got from work, and then slowly work in the rest of the money until it’s gone. Zayn would really like to send it off himself, but Veronica is usually the one that makes the trips back home, buys a bus ticket since the car they share belongs to Harry, and Veronica is usually too polite to ask to use it.

Zayn would love to go, but sometimes it’s not in the budget.

Veronica had been the first to move away from home. They all expected her to go to college, become something, get a degree, and work her way up the corporate ladder. She’s business smart, savvy when it comes to money and management, but then their mum started having health problems, and Veronica gave it up to help their father put food on the table.

Zayn had been expected to follow along after that, to go to college, to make something of himself, but the finances weren’t there, and Zayn wasn’t going to lie or pretend he was something he wasn’t. So, instead, he’s here working, not doing anything he particularly enjoys just so he has the satisfaction of knowing that everyone back home is surviving. He hasn’t seen his two younger sisters in a couple of months, but by the pictures they’ve sent, and the few occasions they have time to Skype, they’ve grown up a lot.

He shakes his head though, doesn’t want to get sentimental as he walks into the flat. The television is on, so Zayn knows that someone is home, and most likely, it’s his sister. Harry lives here, too, but he’s more of a social butterfly and typically leaves the two siblings to their own devices unless, on the rare occasion, he finds leaving the house rather boring.

Zayn doesn’t greet Veronica as he passes the living room. She’s curled up on the couch, and Zayn just wants to change first before he heads to the kitchen for some food. Lunch hadn’t been all that appealing, just a bowl of soup and some crackers before he made the most of his break by going ahead and reorganizing all the yarn. How all of the yellows end up in the pink bin and vice versa, he doesn’t know. But Zayn’s pretty sure (and maybe more or less proud) that his vocabulary of colors has expanded.

Once he kicks off his shoes, Zayn shuffles to his dresser before removing his clothes and throwing on a plain white tee and some trackies. He thinks about showering, but then he finds he’s a lot more hungry, and the nice thought of a bath will do better just before bed.

As he makes to head out of his room, something makes Zayn pause. Those tiny little thoughts trickle to the front of his mind, and Zayn turns his head to stare at the bedside table he’d been keeping the wallet in. Of course, at some point he’d planned on telling Veronica about the money (not about Liam), and more than anything, he’s just been putting it off.

However, Zayn knows that Harry’s away, and they’re here by themselves which means handing some of those bills over would be the smart thing to do.

Zayn takes a brief moment to argue with himself. Not out loud, of course.

There’s no guilt in any of this, though. Well, maybe when it comes down to the fact that he’ll omit some of the truth, but as long as it’s for a greater good, everything will be okay. They always say it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, and Veronica’s never been one to stay mad at him for too long. They’re twins, siblings, even, so they do have their share of fights, but more often than not, one of them is crawling into the others’ bed and smoothing out feelings before they fall asleep.

Maybe it’s because their mother taught them better— never leave a word unsaid.

And with his mother in mind, Zayn sighs and heads for the bedside cabinet, grabs the wallet and quickly unzips it. He’s not quite sure the amount he should take from it, so he grabs a couple without counting and hopes that it’s low enough that Veronica won’t question it. It’s not that he hasn’t handed over his paycheck before, but usually his sister is the one to tell him to keep it for himself. Zayn knows she feels terrible asking for any of his money, but Zayn likes pointing out that Veronica shouldn’t have to use all of hers either.

Folding up the bills, Zayn pockets it before heading for the living room. Veronica hasn’t moved, sprawled out on the couch with the remote in her hand looking quite bored despite the fact that there’s a program on.

When Veronica’s gaze finds Zayn, he refuses to smile and continue on his way to the kitchen. He decided that now wouldn’t be a good time to fix himself some food, only to come back and shove money in Veronica’s face. No, he’s got to prepare himself for a conversation because there _will_ be one regardless of whether or not he wants it.

“Mind if I join you?” He points to the other end of the couch where Veronica’s feet are resting, and she just shrugs, moving them out of way so he can take a seat. “What are you watching?”

“ _Teen Mom_ ,” Veronica blatantly states.

Zayn sends her a look, furrows his brow while he’s at it before shaking his head.

“Don’t give me that. It’s very good contraception. Costs nothing.” She waves her hand around, pointing directly at the television to prove her point. Zayn’s got no clue what’s going on, but someone’s crying —the mother, maybe?— and that’s enough to convince him.

“Dunno, V.” He shifts, bringing his legs up until their tangled with Veronica’s. Both of their heads are on the opposite ends of the armrests so he can see her clearly when she quirks an eyebrow and gives him a straight stare. “You’d be awfully _wonderful_ at it, wouldn’t you?” And there’s a good amount of snark in his tone, choosing to muffle his laugh behind the back of his hand.

Although, it’s probably a good thing, too, because Veronica proves Zayn’s sarcastic point when she chucks the remote at him. It’s not like she has a lousy throw, but it doesn’t hit, actually. Rather it flies to her right and collides with the carpet while Zayn watches it. The batteries end up falling out, and by then he’s already snorting. “Marvelous.”

“Wasn’t made for that kind of shit, and you know it. You’re a perfectly good reminder.”

Zayn’s not wounded, but he acts like it when he covers his heart with his hands. “Sometimes I wonder how you ever love anyone at all.”

His sister narrows her eyes and tilts her head. Clearly there’s a glint in her eye, one they both know means she’s not really being serious just as Zayn’s not that cruel when it comes to Veronica’s abilities. Although, honestly, he knows she wasn’t lying when she claimed inability to be any kind of mother to anyone. She’s done enough for him and their two younger sisters, and mostly Zayn just thinks she’s about ready to move on and actually start living.

“You listen here, though.” She draws his attention with that. “Don’t go get some girl pregnant, yeah? Or boy— Wait.” And she shakes her head and slaps her hand against her forehead while Zayn snickers.

“Really?” Reveling in Veronica’s misfortune is one of Zayn’s favorite past times, but he spares her anything more than a few beats of laughter.

“Shut the fuck up,” she groans. “I’m tired.”

As soon as she mentions that, it’s like things kind of right themselves for Zayn. He can see exactly what she’s talking about, the bags under her eyes, dark blue and purple in color. Veronica doesn’t have wrinkles, at least, not yet, but it seems the lines on her face are a little deeper, mouth a dark shade of red from worrying at them. Zayn wonders if she spoke to anyone back home, or if it’s just because she had another early shift this morning.

“You should ask for some time off soon, then,” he murmurs as the laughter dies.

Veronica snorts and shakes her head, completely waving Zayn off. “You know better than to say something like that.”

“V—” he starts, but then his sister looks at him sharply, and Zayn snaps his mouth shut.

“Don’t try and argue with me. You know better.”

He feels like rolling his eyes in a dramatic fashion, but that might just earn him a slap upside the head, so Zayn refrains from doing so. Veronica has a point, but not one big enough to justify working herself half to death. “What if I said I found a way to cover it?”

With her eyes still on Zayn, Veronica just narrows them. “What are you talking about?”

“Kinda brought you a gift.” Immediately after, Zayn reaches into his pocket and pulls out the money. Honestly, it’s now or never, and he’ll be questioned, but Zayn hates seeing Veronica work herself into the ground, and if it means he’s got to lie and be sneaky, then so be it.

Right of the bat, Veronica can tell something is up, and Zayn doesn’t stop her when she sits up quickly, eyes his hand as he unfolds the bills in order to hand them over. “Take this, and then ask for some days off.”

Veronica takes all of it, doesn’t even bother counting it before she’s holding it up and asking, “Where the fuck did this come from?”

Her eyes are harsh, and Zayn knows she doesn’t mean to be, but it’s to be expected. They don’t keep finances from one another, and obviously there’s a red flag here. “From work,” Zayn gives easily. “A bonus.”

“Bullshit,” Veronica spits back.

She’s not truly angry, Zayn knows, but she’s not getting the truth. Not right now, at least. “Extra savings I had, V. You keep telling me not to give you anything, and sometimes I don’t, but it’s about time I do now.”

His sister still doesn’t look convinced, but his answer is plausible. Maybe that’s why she deflates. “You know I’m not going to take your money.”

And bless her, but Veronica tries to shove the money back into Zayn’s hand, but he refuses. Using his hand, Zayn curls Veronica’s fingers around the bills and gives her a smile. “I know that, but mum has an appointment coming up in a couple of weeks—”

“If she knew you were spending your money on her, she’d have a fit,” Veronica interrupts. She accepts the money, however, and Zayn’s grateful for that. He’ll have to watch out for her later, though, because he knows his sister is capable of trying to sneak money back into his pockets so he’ll find it later. Mostly, Veronica claims innocence when he asks why she gave anything back, but he’s left with no answers and guilt via money weighing down the palm of his hand.

“Just as much as she hates you working your arse off for her, too.” Zayn manages to prove his point when Veronica looks away, and Zayn knows he hit a nerve. “Veronica,” he says softly, “you’re as old as I am, and you work harder than anyone I know. You’re going to run yourself into the ground.”

Veronica licks the front of her teeth and takes a moment before she’s sighing. “I’m doing this because it’s the _right_ thing to do,” she expresses. “And sometimes life isn’t fair, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t do enough.”

Her words sound final, and Zayn really doesn’t want to push it. Honestly, they could probably fight about this all night, have done so in the past, as well, but Zayn really doesn’t want that now. Veronica would go to the ends of the earth if it meant the people she cares for were safe, and there’s no doubt that’s why she’s doing it for her own mother. Veronica loves fiercely, but Zayn just thinks she wouldn’t know what to do with herself if their mother passed. Not that they’re at that point yet, but that’s always that looming thought in the back of their heads. Carrying the weight of impending death happens overtime, especially as children grow up and learn the reality of life, but Zayn and Veronica aren’t even in their twenties yet, and all it is for now is making it through one day at a time.

“Take a few days off, V,” Zayn tells her again as he stands up. And yeah, Veronica does try to shake her head and protest, but Zayn hears none of it when he cups her head in his heads and leans forward to press a kiss against her forehead. “Please,” he whispers, pulling back while Veronica blinks up at him in surprise. “If you don’t do it for yourself, then do it for me. S’kinda my job to worry about you, too.”

Zayn leaves her with a soft smile before he’s disappearing into the kitchen. His stomach growls, and he ignores the way that Veronica’s muttering under her breath, but it’s all for the best. She’ll thank him in a few days knowing good and well he struck a nerve with her enough to follow through with what he asked, and maybe he’s kind of smug about it. Veronica usually likes taking charge, but it’s nice to know that she can also admit defeat.

Either way, there’s less pressure on Zayn now, less guilt, and a little more wiggle room for him to breathe. For Veronica to breathe. And for his family to just _breathe_.

+

It’s a rather slow day at work, and Zayn thinks that maybe he should start taking notes when there’s an off chance that there’s any bit of excitement. He doesn’t even remember the last time he’d been happy to go in, and of course, work is work and not a lot of people like what they do, and really, Zayn figures maybe he shouldn’t complain about it (in his head, though, never does it out loud). Loads of people can’t find work, and despite the measly pay, at least it’s something.

Zayn’s practically watching the clock at this point. Twenty minutes left, and he’ll be free from this place. The only thing he’s got to look forward to is going home, probably making himself a sandwich since they haven’t been able to go grocery shopping yet, before tucking himself in for an early night only to wake up and do the same shit all over again.

It’s all fairly routine by now, and Zayn doesn’t expect any big changes anytime soon. It’s just, some days he’s a little grumpier than others and now seems to showcase that perfectly.

However, ten minutes before Zayn can clock in, his phone buzzes in his pocket. The vibration is short, and he knows that it’s a text. Usually, no one contacts him. Zayn doesn’t have very many friends instead chooses to spend most of his time with Harry just because they’ve known one another for so long. Surely, it’d be great to have others for company, but that also means cluing them in to his situation —maybe not fully, but somewhat— and Zayn’s just not ready for that.

His whole life had been one big puzzle piece, figuring out where to slot himself amongst his classmates. Mostly, Zayn and Veronica stuck together with the addition of Harry and Niall at some point in the school year; however, Niall eventually moved back to Ireland, and while they’d all still keep in touch, it’s not like Zayn can rely on him without him being around.

And suddenly, Zayn finds that he does miss the brilliant bastard, happy-go-lucky had been Niall’s nature, and he can only imagine what he’d be doing right now just to cheer Zayn up. Probably making a right fool of himself just to ease some of Zayn’s tension. He hopes, at least, that Niall’s making someone else happy if he can’t be here to do that for Zayn. And really, he probably owes a phone call to him, too.

Though, with that thought, Zayn pulls out his phone and opens the text. At first, he expects it to be Harry, or even Veronica, asking him to stop by the store to pick up something, maybe even get take-out. Yet, Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise when he finds that Liam’s name is there instead.

Quickly, Zayn opens the text just to find a single one there.

_Meet me? - Liam_

Zayn breathes through his nose, looks up at the clock on the wall and finds that his ten minutes of waiting have now turned to seven. Which is perfectly fine by him, if he’s honest. He wants off his shift, would very much like to go home, but now Liam’s asking for a meet up, and Zayn knows exactly what for. All it does is leave him wondering, though, not completely settled on the idea of actually meeting Liam.

It’s sad, he thinks, that his libido probably isn’t where it should be at his age, as young and as youthful that he is. But Zayn made an obligation, and while his cock doesn’t stir at the thought of potentially have sex with Liam, he knows for sure that it’ll change as soon as he’s in Liam’s presence.

Liam Payne has a way about him Zayn’s sure he’s never seen before, gentle and kind, yet demanding when he wants to be. Zayn admires that about him, likes that he’s cautious and attentive, yet stern and knowing. There’s no reason for Zayn to doubt that he’s in good hands. He got lucky with this one, with this situation and how everything’s been thus far.

This’ll be the third time they’ll meet if Zayn can get his hands over the phone and actually type out a reply. However, it’ll be the second where anything sexual has happened, and that makes Zayn just a tad bit nervous. Wanking off in the bathroom while Liam watched had been one thing. Breathing in his scent and reveling in authority had been easy, too, but if Liam’s looking for more —which certainly at some point he will be— that makes Zayn a bit brittle in the sense that Liam’s going to take, and Zayn’s going to give, and he fucking _knows_ that he’s not going to have a problem with that. Just how much Liam has a hold over him (already and in the future) is a cause for some minor concern.

But Zayn will deal with that when the time comes, maybe. The prospect of leaving while Liam turns a blind eye and never thinks of him again sends bitterness across Zayn’s skin. Business, that’s all this is. Simple pleasure and a bit of fun, but Zayn knows that Liam has already made his mark via money and intended impression, and Zayn, dammit, wants to know that there’s something _he_ can do that’s going to leave the same on Liam.

Zayn might not have much to give save for his body and wanton moans while Liam urges him to finish, but if that’s what Zayn has going for him, well, he’s intending to use it.

_Time and place?_

He’s quick to press send on his phone, blows out a breath of air as he settles his mind with what he’s done.

After all, Zayn had complained earlier about today being boring.

Liam’s going to help make up for that.

+

Zayn had been home alone when he’d gotten another text stating that his ride was awaiting him outside. It’d been awfully nice of Liam to send the car after him. Not only did it mean he’d have a ride back, but he wouldn’t have to worry about traveling on the bus so late at night and walking home after getting off at the last stop. Zayn knows better than to expect Liam to offer him his bed, and the fact that the other man is already lending a helping hand towards Zayn’s problems when it comes to travel, well, Zayn’s appreciative.

The car ride had been silent, Zayn too preoccupied with wondering where he was going. Not that Liam hadn’t hinted in another text message, but discreet seemed to be in his nature, as well, and that left Zayn with curiosity.

What he hadn’t expected, at all, was to pull up to some fancy building where people with briefcases and throw away coffee cups walked down the street. The car pulled up on the sidewalk of a busy street somewhere in downtown London. None of it had stopped Zayn from asking the driver what they were doing here.

So now, Zayn’s standing in the lobby of a building he knows nothing about. It’s really nice, glass windows everywhere, a security desk right next to the bay of elevators. He’d been told to go to the top floor. Zayn still struggling to process the fact that he looks like a kid off the street compared to how _high-end_ everyone’s dressed.

Hell, Liam hadn’t given him instructions to dress up, and now that he feels uncomfortable in his otherwise comfortable outfit, Zayn figures it might be good to find a bathroom, see if he can comb some water through his hair and look a little more presentable.

However, Zayn knows the security guard is kind of eyeing him now since he’s been standing here by himself for a good number of minutes, and Zayn doesn’t know where the toilets are, so he darts forward, straight for the elevators and presses the up button before people start asking questions. It seems (and he’s probably wrong here) that no one aside from the guard had paid any kind of attention to Zayn, and while part of that left him a bit hollow, it also meant that people don’t care enough about him to go asking questions to the point where Zayn would have to fumble with excuses until he made a complete mess of the situation.

One of the elevator doors eventually dings before sliding open, a rush of people of people passing by Zayn before he’s able to make it onto the lift. He’s joined by two other people, though, and while he’s sure they might eye him up, he keeps one of the four corners to himself and lets them press their floor buttons before he reaches out for his. He hits the highest button available, one that looks a little shinier than the rest from its lack of use.

As they’re being carried up, each floor passing the next, the feeling of where Zayn is begins to sink in. Obviously, being downtown in the busier part of the city means something, and Zayn figures if he were going anywhere else, the activity would be dull, if not completely void. But because this is a building of grandeur, where Liam’s office resides, working on the top floor of a company that didn’t even have the nerve to put their name on the building (too prestige, maybe), the location make sense; the people are work-driven and determined, nowhere near as exciting as a place like New York, but still an area that aspires to succeed as a shadow of the former.

Eventually, the lift comes to a quick stop, the doors sliding open while someone makes their exit. It happens a second time not too long after, where more people join Zayn in four metals walls just so they can go about their day. Zayn’s patience draws out over the this period of time, and mostly he just wants to get where he’s going before it begins to look like he’s riding the lift for pure enjoyment.

At some point (though it seems like an eternity with some exaggeration), Zayn’s prayer is answered. His journey ends when they arrive at the proper floor, Zayn exiting quickly before the doors have a chance to close. There isn’t a spare glance backwards, though he can feel the stares from those left inside as they’re forced to go down to a lower level. Immediately after that, Zayn finds himself in a lobby-like area, with a long desk to his left and giant windows facing his right. If he weren’t afraid of heights, he might’ve been tempted to go take a peek, but he’s finding that staying where he is rather smart than imaging a gruesome fall to death..

A multitude of nice, leather chairs sit in front of the windows, though, rounded out so that it forms a bit of a semi-circle. It reminds Zayn of a waiting room rather than an office. Though, the shine of the floors and the impressive gleam of picture frames on the wall make the place a little more comforting than foreign and sterile.

As Zayn continues to take in his surroundings, it’s then that he notices that something is definitely missing. There’s no one here to greet him, and while that sounds a little self-centered, usually if there’s a desk, that means there’s a secretary, and no such person is in his line of vision as far as he can tell.

Zayn doesn’t mean to groan, but he shoves his hand into his pocket, quickly taking out his phone before opening the thread of texts he’d previously sent Liam.

_I’m here, I think?_

There’s no point in putting his phone away because Zayn thinks, well, _hopes_ that maybe Liam will text him back soon.

There’s some shuffling and quiet footsteps that fall on tile, and before Zayn knows it, someone is clearing their throat. When Zayn turns to his right, Liam is the first thing he sees. He’s wearing a black suit, could be Armani or any of the other expensive brands Zayn would rather not list at the moment given the case of class difference here. Whatever it is, it looks even better than the one Liam had worn that Saturday night, this one hugging his figure tightly, all angles with no loose material in place. It’s a deep shade of navy, and Zayn think he likes this one rather than pure black. It’s such a subtle change, but maybe Zayn’s just looking at it from the perspective of color theory, tanned, sun-kissed skin and brown hair reflecting off of blue patterns.

“Fitting,” he gives a gracious nod. “Probably could’ve told me to dress a little nicer.” And Zayn means that. He’s in nothing but a pair of jeans, a shirt, and a jacket in case the weather decided to dip. It’s always been in Zayn’s nature to be careful.

“Didn’t think it’d be a problem since we’re not going anywhere.”

Now that definitely draws Zayn’s complete attention, especially as he looks away from Liam and eyes the foyer of the office. All of it is very sleek and shiny, no messes to be found, everything lined up and neat. It’s very professional, and Liam’s just an asset that not just looks the part, but surely reminds people exactly where they are.

“Everyone’s left except my business partner,” Liam says next. “He’s on the other side of the building unless you’ve got any other concerns?”

Easily, Zayn refocuses on Liam and finds that he’s now leaning against the wall, hands shoved into his pockets and waiting patiently for Zayn’s reply. Rather than give anything of the sort, Zayn decides to steer the conversation onto the older man, see what he has to say for himself about the proposition he’s laying out for Zayn. “Do you usually work late, or is this you testing something out?”

“What makes you think I haven’t done this before?” Liam’s quick to reply, and a small smile graces his lips. It’s not enough to cause a drastic change in his features, but Zayn notices it, and dare he say it, but Liam seems proud of himself.

“You don’t think this is bad business practice?” Zayn teeters on the edge, and it’s him only being cautious, but now he feels that curl of playfulness settle within his chest. It also doesn’t help that he starts making his way towards Liam, carefully walking across the floor like a cat about to pounce.

Liam tilts his head downwards a little, catches on to what Zayn is doing, but he stays exactly where he is. It makes sense; Liam doesn’t seem lazy, just expects things to fall into his hands so easily. “How so? An owner of a company choosing to work some overtime just so he can show up to work the next day a little late? Kind of reminds people who the boss is, doesn’t it?”

“And you are?” Zayn prods. “The boss of this place?” Now, that wouldn’t be a question Zayn had ever intended on asking because of their situation and what was agreed upon. Yet, Liam brought him here to his place work, where he sits and makes executive decisions, makes money, and probably even has a secretary to do half his shit for him. So, in Zayn’s mind, his question is perfectly acceptable, doesn’t like surprises, and while he’d expected to meet Liam and have a little fun, the last place he’d saw coming was his goddamn office.

Thing is, it’s not like Zayn particularly protests. He’s mostly teasing, but there’s still the worry of someone walking in, and regardless of the fact that everyone is off, having already left the place, Zayn doesn’t know enough about how it operates. Are there cleaning crews? Does Liam normally stay late at the office, and if so, do people ever bother him, check up on him just to make sure he gets home at a reasonable time?

And honestly, okay, maybe Zayn’s not _that_ concerned about Liam’s well being and what he chooses to do, but he has to worry about himself and his integrity. Most of that might already be up in the air, questionable to anyone else who found out about what was going on between Liam and him, but there’s also the fact that there’s a very damn good chance it won’t happen if they stick to their plan and play their parts.

Coming into the office in order to get down to _business_ isn’t what Zayn had in mind, and yeah, so what if he’s worried about being caught? It’s a public area, isn’t it? That should be some cause for concern.

“Well,” Liam goes on to say, “like I said before, I do have a business partner. We run this together.” And quickly enough, he too sweeps his gaze over everything Zayn can already visibly see. There’s more to it than meets the eye, but Liam looks a little proud of the home he’s built here.

So far, there hasn’t been a sufficient name or label for what Liam does, but Zayn thinks that’s fine because it’s probably not anything he’s interested in. His money comes from Liam, and where Liam gets that money is not anything Zayn’s willing to question. Not that he believes it comes from anything illegal, but Zayn knows better than to pry into something that personal. Hell, he doesn’t even have a set amount on how much Liam’s worth, just knows he’s got millions, and that’s all right by him.

Eventually, Zayn comes to a pause directly in front of Liam. He could reach out and touch him, drag him forward into a kiss and get on with their night, but there’s still something nagging him, and he’s not going to let up until all of this is settled. “You’re sure no one’s going to find us?” Zayn asks, dropping his gaze just to let Liam know that he’s serious about what he’s proposing. He doesn’t mean to be a threat to their activities, to Liam’s _plans_ , but he wants to make sure he won’t be caught with his trousers around his ankles while some desk jockey walks in on them and casually spreads the news to his co-workers.

“The door has a lock, and Louis knows better than to bother me when I stay late.”

Louis, that name doesn’t sound familiar, but Zayn figures that’s Liam’s business partner. Would make sense, sounds like an individual that might be able to hold his own in the business world. And then there’s the fact that if he’s anything like Liam, young and hardworking, precise and sharp, well, Zayn can see why they’ve fallen into partnership so easily and how they’ve managed to keep themselves on top.

“Still worried?” Liam asks again when Zayn isn’t quick enough to tell him that sure, he’s settled. “You know you don’t have—”

And then Zayn snorts and gives Liam a funny look, nose scrunched like he can’t even believe Liam had been about to go in that direction with his statement. “For someone who’s _paying_ me to have sex with them, you’d think you’d be a little more demanding, not seeking my approval.”

He only meant it as a joke, Zayn swears, just something to poke fun of because yeah, Liam had been cautious with Zayn before at the gala, and right now, too, with asking him if having office sex was anything he wanted or not. Zayn hadn’t ever imagined having too many choices in the matter when he decided to go this route, but Liam’s surprised him to say the least, and maybe that’s not something Zayn should take for granted. Knowing that there are far worse fates available, it suddenly has him sobering up and recognizing the look that passes over Liam completely.

“Money can buy you a great deal of things,” Liam murmurs, reaching out for Zayn’s waist to draw him forward, “but it shouldn’t ever take away someone’s voice.”

Zayn could argue that that’s not always the case, that people take bribes and money is an object that people seek to stay sane so they don’t have stress. But he gets it. Zayn understands what Liam’s trying to say, and at the end of the day, he’s right. Choosing to argue would do nothing more than stir trouble and trying to disprove Liam would be pointless, too. It’s always been hard for Zayn to find enough in a person to respect them, and maybe that means he’s had a lack of good people in his life, or he’s just choosy, but at this moment, Zayn can’t mistake the little trickle of reverence he suddenly feels. It makes him warm along with Liam’s hand settling at the base of his spine, and yeah, Zayn’s ready to throw a bit of caution to the wind.

“Well,” he expresses with a shy smile and roaming hands, playing with Liam’s tie as he works to loosen it. “I’m using mine, and I’d very much like it if you showed me to your office. M’sure there’s plenty to see.”

Liam’s gaze flickers over Zayn, taking him in even though he’s in ratty clothing and in a less than desirable state. However, that doesn’t stop Liam from looking like he’s got something planned, never deterred by mere appearance.

With a simple nod, Liam pushes himself away from the wall before gently guiding Zayn forward. “Of course, Mr. Malik. Right this way.”

+

Liam’s got a very, very nice leather couch, and the only way Zayn actually knows that is because he’s currently bent over the armrest while Liam’s busy finger-fucking him. It looks quite expensive, and Zayn hates to think that they might potentially ruin it, but Liam hadn’t seemed bothered when he’d ordered Zayn to strip and make himself at home.

Of course, there were other surface areas available for Zayn to choose from, but Liam’s desk had looked busy, and Zayn hadn’t wanted to go and knock things off of it just for a bit of fun.

Up against the glass windows seemed nice as well, looking over part of the city. And then Zayn shook his head and pushed that thought to the back of his mind, figured it might be too intimate and somewhat revealing.

The last option, besides the floor, had been the couch, and Zayn had almost written that off, too, until Liam had given him a look (from behind his desk as he gathered a condom and some lube) that clearly indicated he needed to make up his mind. So, for the sake of convenience, Zayn chose the sofa.

It also kind of gave Liam the excuse to push him into position, with nowhere else to go. And that’s how it is now, with Zayn’s fingers curling into the material, hoping that his blunt nails won’t leave marks in the smooth black texture. Liam’s doing a fine job of twisting his fingers, spreading them out so Zayn can feel some of the pressure from within.

Surprisingly, none of it aches; there had been a slow burn, Liam only pushing in one finger at a time until Zayn deemed it okay for him to go with another. And now that Liam’s got three fingers in him, _damn_. All Zayn can say is that he’s missed this, craved the feeling of someone putting their hands on him again, feel him up and tease him before he turned into a whimpering mess.

“ _Liam_ ,” he breathes out, falling forward until he’s resting against the armrest, arse now angled upwards to the point that Liam’s fingers shift along with his movements, a little deeper and a lot more satisfying.

“I know you want me to keep going,” Zayn hears Liam; his voice sounds a bit distant, or maybe that’s because he’s panting and trying to push himself back so Liam gets the hint, but he tries to listen, tries to stop moving for the sake of getting what he wants, “but that’s not going to happen until you take my cock.”

At the mention of that, Zayn bites his bottom lip, hips jerking a little as Liam finally pulls his fingers away from his body. He does his best not to whimper, doesn’t like the emptiness he feel, nor how wet he is either. Liam had done a good job of using the lube, and, _god_ , Zayn can’t wait to hear the squelch of the product as Liam finally enters him. “Y-yeah,” he manages to get out without really having a moment of clarity. Zayn just knows what he wants, and that Liam’s not being nice about it. “That, give me that, _please_.”

Liam _tsks_ and Zayn frowns. His eyes are closed tightly. Right now, all he wants is to fucking _feel_.

“You ask so nicely,” Liam eventually remarks. “Not sure that you want it enough, though.”

There’s a hand that trails over his arse; it’s firm and warm, and Zayn likes it there, can imagine it leaving a mark against his skin, a red-shaped print that stings hot after being made to sit properly. Zayn shivers and frowns even deeper. Surely he’d convinced Liam he was ready; he’s in position, even let Liam open him up so well, and now he’s having to forget how dry his throat is and beg a little more. “Liam,” Zayn tries to say evenly, but it doesn’t come out the way he wants it to.

“Can stay here all night, little bird,” which to that Zayn roughly shakes his head before Liam continuous, “unless you use your words.”

Again, Zayn bites his lips before he lets go, tongue heavy in his mouth while he slowly gathers himself to sit up just enough to open his eyes and glance at Liam. “Gonna need you to fuck me,” he says hoarsely with as much appeal as he can muster up. “With your cock, Liam. C’mon.”

Liam, however, still doesn’t follow through, and Zayn growls in frustration. Apparently, that’s not the right thing to do because suddenly there’s a grip around his dick, and Zayn hisses when Liam squeezes and leans over his body enough so that his voice isn’t as distant. “Don’t get too demanding, babe,” the other man says casually. “Might just leave you like this if you get out of line.”

Zayn’s face surely contorts into worry like Liam might actually leave him like he is. Fuck, he’s more worked up than he had been at the gala, balls tight, arse slick with lube and waiting for a cock to fuck him raw. “N-no, don’t,” he pleads, voice completely falling away into that of a plea. “Just want you, yeah. S’good, innit?"

Zayn hears Liam hum like he’s thinking about it, taking into consideration that, yeah, Liam’s had a bit of fun with him, watching him twitch and beg just because of his fingers. But it’d be even better if Liam actually followed through with Zayn’s request, slide into him and realize how good Zayn feels around him. “Patience is a good thing to have,” is the last thing that slips off of Liam’s tongue before he releases Zayn and thrusts against his ass. Liam’s cock slides in between his cheeks, and Zayn clenches around nothing, knowing better than to move lest Liam actually follows through with his threats.

Eventually, the head of Liam’s cock catches the rim of his hole, teasing him. It’s like a small amount of bliss knowing that in just a few seconds he’ll be filled and _high_ off on Liam. The anticipation is practically killing him, so it makes it so much more worth it when Liam uses one of his hands to steady Zayn’s hip, grips his cock before the head of his dick and pushing into Zayn, taking his time.

There isn’t as much of a burning pain as much as there is stretching. Zayn’s no stranger to spending a little extra time in bed, carefully circling his hole with a lubed up finger, squeezing his cock every so often just to keep his orgasm at bay before nestling in knuckle-deep. However, now isn’t just fingers, but Liam himself, and while Zayn would’ve loved to give his attention to Liam, maybe suckled at the head of his cock, get him wet with spit as he tried his best to swallow all of him down, Zayn isn’t complaining about the outcome of tonight.

Besides, there’s always later. Liam seems eager to keep his hands on Zayn.

Whether it’s just tonight, or if it’s in general, Zayn’s not sure, but what he’s finding is that Liam likes to take things a bit slow, draw out the experience not only just to keep the pleasure from fading, but because it’s easier for Zayn to get impatient, to start demanding or making noise so that he’ll hurry it up. But this time, Zayn remains quiet when Liam pushes in, focuses all of his attention on the slow burn, the push, the way he’s gladly taking all of Liam. There’s such a rush there, something Zayn has to admit he doesn’t usually appreciate. The way his body is so accommodating is almost a turn-on all unto itself, and Zayn can’t help but be thankful for that.

It’s not much longer before Liam’s finally settled in, balls deep, hips pressed against his arse, and Zayn knows that it’s probably too much for him right now, too many feelings, too much pleasure. It all goes to his head, fingers clasping for the couch just to keep himself grounded.

And then Liam’s pulling out, and Zayn, wow, he has no words. His eyes squeeze shut, cock twitching, and it’s so much at one time that Zayn thinks that if he doesn’t try hard enough, he’ll cum way too soon.

By the time Liam’s nearly pulled all the way out, he presses in again. This time it’s with a lot more firmness, a little more bravery knowing that Zayn hasn’t complained about it hurting, that he’s actually quite enjoying the entire process. And then soon enough, it ends up in a rhythm with Liam thrusting and Zayn ever so encouraging.

His cock bounces between his legs, slapping wetly against his stomach with each thrust, and Zayn vaguely thinks he should touch himself before that idea is thrown to the wind when Liam reaches around Zayn’s abdomen, hauling him up until he’s on his knees and pressed firmly against Liam’s chest.

The angle changes, and it’s more of a rough slide against his prostate now than before, tingles of pleasure crawling throughout the limbs of his body. Zayn’s mouth snaps open when Liam buries his face into the crook of Zayn’s neck, pressing his lips against the skin before sucking. Zayn can’t help it when his brows knit together, so conflicted on what area he should be focusing on the most— Liam’s mouth or the other man’s cock thick and warm.

Zayn feels a bit like jelly, supple and slack, and maybe he should feel bad that he’s taking more than he’s giving. Liam’s excellent, and it takes more brainpower than Zayn’s willing to admit just to push back into the older man. Yet, when he does, Liam’s hand finds itself caressing Zayn’s jaw before he grips it tight, wrist aligned with his neck as a way to keep his upper half still. “Should probably tell you how amazing you feel, hmm?” Liam asks. His voice cracks as he gives a sloppy thrust, but he recovers quickly by squeezing around Zayn’s jaw as if he might actually say something about the momentary lack of control. “Made you wait so long, too. Though I don’t suppose you had a problem with it, did you?”

There’s enough room given for Zayn to move his mouth, to actually speak and give a coherent answer, but all he can do is suck in his breath when Liam suddenly quits moving. Everything just stops, and Zayn whines in confusion, and while at first it seems that Liam’s just shifting, moving his knees to find a more comfortable position, that’s not the case because Zayn knows that his chest rises and falls with each breath of air he takes, how he’s so still despite Liam pressed against his skin and nuzzling into his neck. “Who makes you feel good, babe?”

Liam’s voice isn’t cautious, but it is low, like he expects an answer. Zayn tries his best to curl his tongue around words, but he’s too slow when Liam gives an unexpected, _hard_ thrust for emphasis. “ _Liam_ ,” Zayn manages to choke out, squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip right after.

“That’s right,” Liam taunts, pressing a chaste kiss against the area behind the younger boy’s ear. “And who turns you on so much, you just _have_ to beg for it?”

This time, Zayn’s ready and isn’t surprised by Liam asking him anything. His eyelashes flutter as he gives his response. “Liam,” he says, tone a lot more firm. Zayn thinks that might be pleasing, Liam knowing that Zayn’s actually listened and was quick with his delivery.

However, that’s probably the cause of Liam’s sudden displeased noise and the fact that he fucks up into Zayn again.

Zayn’s gasp is quite a bit louder this time, certainly not prepared for that after Liam’s held himself still for so long. But he keeps quiet, knows better than to speak when Liam may or may not be done claiming him.

Which he guessed right. A few seconds later, Liam’s there with another question. “Who fucks you _where_ you need it, _how_ you need it, hmm, Zayn?” There’s something like a purr in Liam’s voice, filled with cadence and a lack of humility, and the best part about it is that Zayn knows there’s no shame. Liam doesn’t hold that feeling close, is quite confidant and expectant, and just what Zayn needs in order to feel something hot burn under his skin. Not as if that wasn’t already the case, the sweat upon their brows and across parts of their body a clear indication of such temperatures, but Zayn feels it elsewhere now.

It’s something that hadn’t yet scratched the surface, hadn’t really been a prominent thought in Zayn’s mind. Surely it hadn’t been something he’d thought about much either. So where it comes from or why, it’s difficult to tell, but Zayn’s not complaining, finally feels something break free within himself. Maybe a rush of relief, or something akin to freedom, and it’s out before he can stop himself. “ _Daddy_ ,” Zayn suddenly moans, the word cracked and mangled within the pitch of his voice. There’s no time to think the thoughts he surely would any other day (the pure embarrassment of his actions) because Zayn then blatantly feels his head being turned slightly, where Liam’s clearly smirking.

Liam doesn’t give Zayn a bruising kiss like he finds that he wants, nor does he release his hold on Zayn’s jaw. Rather, Liam blinks at him with hazy, mischievous eyes, releasing a low laugh before saying, “Perfect _._ ”

It’s not long after that when Liam seems to get ahold of himself before deciding to continue with what Zayn would call his reward. Rough, tepid hands slide down Zayn’s body then, and he almost falls forward again until he uses his hands to prop himself up. Liam, however, pays attention to Zayn’s hips, specifically the part where hip meets thigh. His fingers curl around Zayn so easily before he grips him tight, thrusting into Zayn so hard that the younger man gasps and would’ve surely fell over the couch, face first onto the carpet if he hadn’t been supporting himself already.

Liam keeps at it with his hips though, thick, solid thrusts that leave Zayn shaking and urging the other man to go faster. But Liam never does; he sets the pace himself, thrusting as casually as possible, really making Zayn feel him with every movement.

Zayn’s a babbling mess in Liam’s arms. He’s not as pressed up against Liam’s chest like he was before, but he is close enough to feel his presence along his spine. With that, the combination of Liam’s antagonizing fucking, and the blatant need to cum, Zayn mewls and seeks permission to touch himself, afraid of coming too soon and Liam not being happy about it, at all.

Liam, however, immediately denies him, and Zayn feels that trickle of frustration. His cock swollen and pressed against his stomach just ready to be touched, he finds that there’s really no need. Liam continues to move behind him, he not only thrusts a little faster, but Zayn nearly chokes when a hand wraps around his member. The grip is shallow, and Zayn tries to fuck up into it, but Liam keeps it at a tease until it becomes way too much for him to handle.

In a matter of moments, Zayn’s gone, spilling into Liam’s fist. His whole body coils with pleasure before he slumps against the other man, muscles tightening from the inside and it causes Liam to give a few more staggering thrusts into Zayn before he’s reaching his climax, too.

The groan on Liam’s lips —nearly the first one that Zayn’s been privy to after all this time— is such a sweet sound to his ears. He hadn’t known he’d been longing for it, words only doing so much to ease the notion that he’d been a good fuck as well. And while Zayn is sated and blissful from his high, Liam rides out his orgasm until he’s proper done, keeping Zayn in his grip before either of them move.

Their breathing is heavy at this point, both trying to regain some semblance of themselves before they begin moving, and it’s no wonder when Liam’s the first to pull away. He does so carefully, eases out of Zayn who only feels the slide of a softening cock part ways with his body. It’s no surprise that he feel empty now, but it’s for the better, will help him attain his senses, especially later when Zayn falls asleep tonight.

Now, however, Liam’s already disposed of the condom, gathers his clothes to slip back on, and while Zayn watches as he stands to find his own, somehow he thinks Liam’s going to be able to look just as fresh as when they’d first met. Of course, his suits might have telltale signs of where Zayn had gripped the fabric and forced Liam’s jacket off his shoulders, or how he’d been eager to pop a button on Liam’s white, button down shirt.

And, though, will probably look more like an animal drowned in sweat, his own pieces of clothing not helping the situation.

He doesn’t think about it as he forces his boxers over his legs and eventually up his hips, not when he gathers his trousers, or his shirt, or his shoes. Zayn knows he’ll shower when he get home, relax under the water, probably get a quick snack and then find himself on the couch or his bed for the night. Everything will go back to normal.

“This is for you.”

Zayn’s just finished tying up his shoelace when he looks up to find Liam holding out a white envelope. There’s no doubt about what’s inside, the thickness of the paper self-explanatory, and Zayn takes it with a small smile and a graceful nod. “Yeah, thanks.”

And that seems the end of it until Liam extends the conversation, not that Zayn truly minds, but it’s the context that catches him off guard. “Figured it’d be silly of me to give you a present. After all,” he shyly laughs, “m’not familiar with what you like, but that’ll do for now?” It’s posed as a question, and Zayn probably tilts his head a little, eyeing the other man like he can’t quite figure him out. Sure, Zayn knew of other payments that involved special gifts, some along the lines of jewelry or relative expenses paid at events, but the fact that the businessman had actually put some thought into his purchase (aka Zayn) isn’t as weird as it probably should be. All it means is that Zayn is worth Liam’s time. That matters the most.

“S’fine,” Zayn holds up the envelope to showcase that he means what he says. “M’not really a flashy kind of person anyway.”

Now, there should be some backhanded comment, something along the lines of Liam laughing and shaking his head, finding it rather funny that money in its true form isn’t flashy. However, Liam doesn’t do such a thing, and Zayn ends up biting his lip and looking around the room a little nervously. Not that Liam makes him nervous, or that he’s not fond of conversation, but Zayn’s torn with telling Liam not to spend money on him, ever. Then again, that’s the reason he’s here in the first place, and basically, it’s just a tough reminder that they’re both at fault here. This isn’t about Liam pitying Zayn, or him thinking he’d ever end up with a man like Liam in the first place.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” is the last thing Liam leaves Zayn with before he gives his goodbye. It’s brief in every sense of the word, quite formal in nature, and it’s odd how the atmosphere has changed so suddenly, previously filled with sexual tension to nothing more than acquaintances.

Zayn doesn’t rush out of Liam’s office, nor does he run either. He actually takes his time to admire the place for what it’s worth. Surely there’s other features he’s missing, taking the same hallway Liam had led him down, but it’s enough to give him an idea of the place.

The elevators eventually come into view, and Zayn lets out a sigh. He’d been told the car was waiting on him in the same place it’d dropped him off, ready to head back to his flat, and for that, Zayn’s grateful.

He waits for the lift, slips the envelope into his back pocket and checks his phone before looking up when the doors to the elevator opens.

Stepping in, Zayn presses the button labeled ‘floor’ before watching the scene in front of him disappear, and Zayn can’t help but think it kind of resembles his life at the moment. He’s back and forth between rags to riches, currently caught in the threshold of both, leaning one way over the other just to get a taste of the other side.

From Zayn’s view, well, it’s not so bad.

+

The _only_ reason Zayn’s out today is because Harry decided to drag him along on his quest for a new pair of shoes. It sounds simple, really. Go to the store, pick up what’s available, something that doesn’t cost too much, will look decent with everything, and won’t squish your toes in the process. It’s easy, and honestly, Harry may be clumsy and a bit slow sometimes, but Zayn’s pretty sure his best friend is very much capable of fending for himself when it comes to clothing himself.

His acquired taste is something left for questioning, but Zayn just leaves it. Harry’s going to dress how he wants regardless of what anyone tells him. Lately, it’s been bandanas in his unruly, curly hair, and jeans Zayn’s not quite sure the lower half of his body is even able to breath in.

“You know,” Harry says thoughtfully, because that’s usually how he is always anyway; it gets him in trouble, mostly, “we should totally try a different tactic.”

“Didn’t know we needed a game plan to help buy you something,” Zayn proceeds. The shoe section is, well, very boring, Zayn thinks. Apparently, Harry’s not found what he’s looking for here, which means that their trip is going to be extended. He wants boots, or something like that. Zayn’s not quite sure. It’s easier not to ask, just follow along and point things out that Harry might like.

Eventually, Harry drags him out of the shoe store, very carefully waving to one of the pretty sale’s associates as an apology for not buying anything. Zayn relaxes as soon as they’re out of the store, but the feeling doesn’t last long when Harry takes off down the sidewalk. “What if we tried somewhere new?”

“Okay?”

“Well, alright,” Harry gives him a crooked smile, “don’t sound too excited.”

“You dragged me out of my house, Harry. I could be doing something more productive,” he snaps, but he doesn’t mean it, and they both know it. It’s not like Zayn does much aside from work anyway. Plus, the weather’s actually kind of nice, and sometimes it’s good to feel like Zayn might be accomplishing something. Not that he actually is, really, but it’s not going to break his mood because of that notion.

“Maybe it’s because I wanted you to finally tell me what’s been going on lately.”

Zayn’s first instinct is to deny everything and claim that he’s perfectly fine. However, it’s been a few days since he’s actually said a word to his housemates since they’ve all been doing their own thing, so Zayn figures it might not be best to put up a front. Besides, regardless of what he says, Harry would only give him a wry smile until Zayn rolled his eyes and gave in.

“No one’s asked.” He shrugs because it’s the truth.

But then Harry blatantly stops walking which causes Zayn to have to trail a few steps back and send an apologetic smile to a few people in their path. “Don’t you dare say that,” Harry points at him. “Nearly had my balls chewed off by Veronica. I don’t think you even understand that woman’s interrogation skills, Zayn.”

Eyes widening just a fraction of an inch, Zayn glances down Harry’s body like he might actually find physical evidence of his claims. He doesn’t think Harry’s lying either. Veronica usually gets a pinched look on her face before she’s sinking her nails into anyone that gets in her way. And maybe that’s not a fair description. Zayn knows she’s not a bitch and doesn’t mean to act overly protective like she does, but she’s fierce when she’s worried, and that can get a little scary. “You didn’t say anything, did you?”

Harry snorts quite loudly and looks away. “Thank you very much for asking if I was okay or not. I am, by the way.”

Then, Harry kind of tips his head before taking off, and Zayn’s left scrambling after him. “Sorry, shit,” he says. “Would’ve gotten around to that eventually. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Harry answers, “but my pride is wounded. I feel sorry for anyone she ends up dating. Imagine marriage.”

Even Zayn grimaces at that. Really, he does love his sister, and most of it’s just silly humor, but Harry’s partially right. Even Zayn’s parents agree that Veronica probably won’t settle down, not just because she’s a bit intimidating, but it’s never really fit her personality. “Is that why you brought me out here, then?”

“What? To make you feel bad?” Harry’s not paying attention to Zayn or to where he’s walking because he’s trying to piece together where they are and what stores they’re near. Zayn ends up playing lookout, guiding Harry away from potential hazards.

“Er, sure.”

“No,” and Harry looks like he’s debating that answer until he isn’t anymore. “Like I said, I wanted an update. You slip Veronica some money and expect her not to ask questions; you tell me you’re dating an older gentlemen— which, by the way, Zayn,” again he stops in his tracks which causes Zayn to run into him until they gather themselves properly, “a _sugarbaby_ , I never pegged you for one.”

Like Zayn has done before, Harry analyzes him until Zayn reaches out and smacks his shoulder, mouthing the words _ow_ as if Zayn actually hit him hard enough to hurt. He didn’t; Zayn really can’t punch for shit. “It’s a _title_ , but it’s not official,” he hisses, looking around them just to make sure no one’s heard. Zayn’s not ashamed, but just because he’s okay with what he’s doing doesn’t mean everyone else is going to be.

Harry hums and crooks a brow, not at all worried about anyone else but themselves. “Let’s say I believe that for a moment,” he says, smoothing his thumb across the edge of his jaw. “Your schedule has changed enough in the past few days to actually prove otherwise. You might’ve been able to admit it to yourself,” Harry raises his brows, “while leaving the rest of us in the dark, but let me just throw it out there that you might want to start thinking about all the ways you’re going to have to eventually own up to having a sugar daddy.”

It’s not like Zayn hasn’t thought about the situation. It’d been one thing to pursue it, yeah, but it’s something else when labels like that are involved. Zayn hadn’t been worried about that considered he’d fully intended to keep as much information away from Harry and Veronica.

And at some point, Harry’s probably right, and Zayn will have to confront it, but for the time being, well, his body decides to react different to Harry’s words. He doesn’t get hard, per se, but his dick does twitch, and then Zayn finds that it’s suddenly kind of hot, cheeks blossoming red, and it’s difficult to look Harry in the eyes all of a sudden because Zayn’s too busy biting his lip and thinking back to the other night.

Stupid Harry. He’s usually one of the most oblivious people Zayn knows, and now he’s pointing out advice and other observations left and right.

“What did you do, Zayn?”

Resisting the urge to stomp his foot like a child, Zayn only shrugs and makes a very much-needed effort to bury his face in his hands. “Nothing,” he murmurs.

But Harry’s not buying it when he reaches for Zayn’s wrists, tugging them away from his face. “You already know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

He’s already smiling, the smug bastard, and it’d take a miracle for Zayn’s blush to be covered up. On top of that, he can’t seem to get out of Harry’s grasp, and the small amount of panic already seems set to stay. “It was one time!” he practically screeches.

It takes both men by surprise before Harry’s the first to break away, bouts of laughter falling through the cracks of his fingers trying best to cover his mouth.

“Don’t,” Zayn says, already regretting saying anything at all. Really, why in the world does he have these kind of compulsions? “Please don’t do that. You’re making me feel like a freak.”

Harry straightens up as best as he can, but he doesn’t quit laughing completely. “You’re not,” he shakes his head before slinging an arm over Zayn’s shoulder and bringing him in for a hug. “I never expected this from you, Zayn. I’m still a bit shocked.”

Zayn flicks Harry’s side, but he doesn’t move away like he’d been hoping he would. “Does this suffice as information? I think you’ve interrogated me enough.”

They start walking again, Harry carefully taking the lead this time around. “Maybe,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

But Zayn shoves him harder this time, and while Harry does stumble he gives a dramatic sigh. “Okay, I won’t press you for anything else. However,” and he does hold up a finger when Zayn tries to protest, “you have to tell me what he’s giving you, at the very least.”

There’s no way he’s going to get out of this. Zayn should probably be grateful that that’s the question Harry’s chosen to ask instead of anything else that’s happened with Liam. Really, all of it’s new for him, and Zayn’s still trying to process it as time goes on. His willingness to be so candid about it is next to nothing, but that doesn’t mean it won’t change in the future. Zayn decided awhile back he wanted to be a little more stable with this whole ordeal, get used to it enough that it won’t be anything he should be shameful about.

And he’s not, but even if Zayn feels that way, that doesn’t mean other people won’t try to shame him. Harry, of course, has proven himself. Veronica, on the other hand, is a different story, and maybe Zayn’s more worried about her reaction. She understands a lot of things, he realizes, and it’s silly of him to doubt her. But there’s still that doubt nagging at him.

Really, Zayn’s pretty sure he just doesn’t want Veronica to see him as easy, or that it’s simple to buy him off. She’d probably give him an entire talk about him being good enough for anyone, not needing this kind of arrangement between Liam and himself. The scariest thing is admitting he kind of likes it, though. Rejection has never been an easy thing for Zayn. He feels too much sometimes, and right now, it’s kind of nice having something where that’s not the main priority.

“Dunno,” Zayn shrugs. “Haven’t counted what he gave me last time. Like, sometimes I’m too scared to touch it.”

“You think he’s going to ask for it back?” Harry easily slips into conversation, not at all stirring up judgment.

Zayn shakes his head, though. “No, I doubt it, but it’s a lot, you know?” Glancing over at Harry, Zayn finds that he’s easily able to navigate them while casually sending Zayn looks to know he’s listening. “Just not used to it, really, and anytime I think about using it or what I could do with it, I feel dirty.”

Clearly, Harry takes what he’s said the wrong way, and Zayn realizes how that sounds until he’s softly shoving an elbow into Harry’s ribs so he’ll be quiet. “Not like that,” he corrects. “Like, what if I _do_ use it? I might walk into some store, and they’ll treat me better than they’ve ever done before because I suddenly have enough, am _worth_ enough—”

“Shut up,” Harry says suddenly. They’ve stopped for the third time now, and Harry purposefully turns Zayn to face him with a hard look written all across his face. “You know you deserve to be happy, don’t you?”

The move is unexpected, but Harry ends up cupping his face. Zayn can’t find it in himself to pull away from him anyway.

“Money’s not always the answer, and people fucking _suck_ when they realize you’re more well off than them,” Harry explains. “But it doesn’t change you, doesn’t make you better or worse—”

“It changes some people,” Zayn counters.

“Maybe,” Harry agrees, nodding slowly, “but are you going to let it change you?”

For all of Harry’s grievances, he sure does strike hard when proving a point. Zayn knows he’s right, and what he said can’t apply to how people treat him in general. Zayn has all the control, can let it eat him alive, worry and stress himself over how having a couple of numbers next to his name is tangible, or he can still continue to prove that he’s just Zayn. None of this makes him better or worse, as Harry said.

Zayn’s not worth more or less by what Liam’s given him. It’s hard to prove otherwise when Zayn thinks of Liam, or sees those trashy tabloids at the store when he’s checking out, how some rich celebrities spent another couple of grand on useless shit.

But then again, Zayn sets his principles, and he’s eager for this not to rule his life as much as it already has. The bills, keeping a roof over his family’s head, having some extra to use on himself, all of those things are now being taken care of. There’s a semblance of control there, and the last thing he needs is tacked-on guilt for something he thinks he doesn’t really deserve. “Haven’t used any of it,” he says as soon as Harry drops his hands away from his face. He scratches his nose and tries to hide the rest of his thoughts on the matter. “Except for what I gave Veronica; it’s just been sitting there.”

Harry looks away for a moment like he’s pondering Zayn’s admission. “We’re going to be smart about this, Zayn,” he says as he turns back to his friend.

There’s a glint in his eye, which probably means trouble, but Zayn’s feeling a lot more confident about his situation. “Should I even ask what you have in mind?”

“Forget about me for today,” he waves the idea away. “You’ve found yourself a new job, haven’t you?” Harry grins without waiting for Zayn’s answer. “I think it’s about time you dress the part.”

Zayn’s eyes widen as Harry takes his hand, continuing on their walk. He’s practically being dragged at this point, wanting the other boy to slow down just so he can wrap his around what Harry might be implying. “No,” he shakes his head and tries to dig his heels into the ground. “Completely unnecessary, Harry. I’m not doing it.”

“Wanna impress Liam?” Harry asks sweetly, throwing the words over his shoulder until Zayn finally decides to catch up with him. “Let’s make him see how well you’re spending his money.”

Dread isn’t even the right word Zayn would use to describe the situation he’s placed himself in, but his wishes to go home, go unanswered when the first store Harry pushes him into is Topman.

“It’s midway, Zayn,” Harry explains. “It’s not Gucci expensive, but it’s better than those rags you’ve got on now.”

Zayn looks down at his clothes, just a t-shirt and some jeans, without finding anything wrong with them. “They’re fine.”

And Harry snorts, throwing a shirt into his arms before he adds another. Zayn, at any other time, would be impressed that he seems to know the store like the back of his hand, but right now he’s growing worried about the pile of clothes Harry’s making. “They’re not, and if Liam’s already interested, then you might as well _keep_ him that way a little bit longer.”

“Pretty sure he’s interested in my ass, Harry,” Zayn says sarcastically. “Don’t think clothes matter all that much to him under our circumstances.”

Harry seems to ignore him in favor of pulling a few more pieces off the rack. Most of these probably won’t even fit, and Zayn’s not even looking forward to eyeing the price tag.

“No,” he suddenly agrees. “You’re probably right, but imagine the moment Liam thinks you’re worth every penny.”

Zayn fights off the urge to argue with Harry considering he just gave him a whole talk on the money issue. But then he realizes Liam doesn’t necessarily live by their standards, and while Harry sounds ridiculous in his assumptions that dressing a little nicer is going to do anything other than cover Zayn’s hide, well, he’s mistaken.

Zayn’s actually kind of hoping he might be right.

+

The air of the restaurant is nothing Zayn knows how to describe. It’s probably because it’s more of a social gathering than anything else. It’s the opening night, and Zayn’s pretty sure there’s a few recognizable faces within the groups of people huddled among the tables.

Liam and Zayn have one to themselves, but mostly Zayn’s just sat here alone because Liam keeps leaving to make small talk whenever he notices someone. Which, that’s not to say it’s all bad. It’s free food, after all, but Zayn thinks his reservations lie within the fact that although this is very much a private event, there are journalist or reporters or whatever the fuck they’re meant to be, surrounding the area. Media personals that will no doubt go back to their business, write about the latest gossip on their websites, further promote the restaurant as the new go-to for famous faces.

Of course, Zayn’s not important enough to be included within those texts, but that hadn’t meant that both Liam and himself had to go around the back to avoid paparazzi. Liam had hushed his worries of ending up in the papers, but every so often, there’s a flash of a camera in one area of the room, and then another, and then yeah, _another_.

“You can relax. They won’t be coming over here.”

Zayn startles and forces his gaze away from the man with the camera on the other side of the room. He doesn’t mean to be paranoid like so, but it’s achingly worrisome to know that his face could end up somewhere he hadn’t approved of. This totally isn’t the way he’d like to admit his business to his family either. Imagine Veronica getting a hold of the paper, or even a link to an article where Zayn was pictured with an older man and the shocking tale of a budding romance.

“Never know,” Zayn responds with a smile. “Could end up in the background, numerous people so curious as to who I am, they want to track me down just to take me out. Imagine.” He’s joking as he stares off into the distance like he’s watching said story play out in his head. His words still lie with his nerves and the sip of wine he takes isn’t going to be enough to fix it.

However, it does bring about Liam’s laughter, and if Zayn were honest, that’s a very ingenious form of distraction.

“Think you’re pretty special for that, hmm?” Liam looks up through his eyelashes while using his fork to take a stab at some of the pasta on his plate. In no time, it reaches his mouth where Zayn discovers that little smirk of smugness.

But, Zayn smiles right back as cuts his chicken into a nice mouth-sized piece. “Managed to catch you, didn’t I?”

 _Temporarily_ is not a word tacked onto that sentence, but Liam doesn’t deny a thing. Even if technically speaking, it’s the other way around. Zayn sought Liam out, yes, but he’s also the one that chose him. And that has Zayn continuing on with his smirk.

The rest of their dinner consists of idle chit-chat, not enough to really interest either of them, but that’s kind of expected because Zayn’s not here to learn about Liam, to get to know him intimately in other areas of his life beside the bedroom. Liam cocks his head at one point, licking his lips while he’s at it before asking, “You mentioned school before, didn’t you?”

It throws Zayn off guard for a moment; his chewing ceases for nothing more than a brief moment before he continues. He takes his time after that, wanting to thoroughly cut down the chicken in his mouth so he won’t choke, but mostly that’s just a way to stall because Zayn doesn’t want to talk about that, not if he can help it. It’s not so much a touchy subject as it is a sad one. Zayn might’ve not had high hopes for himself, but his parents did, his mother did and still does.

“Briefly,” Zayn says, attempting to keep it short, like his curt tone might actually help Liam realize that he doesn’t wish to discuss the subject.

But apparently Liam’s thick in that regard, or he’s determined to learn what Zayn’s reluctant to give, because he presses the subject again. “And you wanted to go for what?”

Surely by now Liam recognizes the tense line in Zayn’s shoulders. And hopefully he knows that he’s sticking a fork into something that’s done, that’s not a part of Zayn’s life anymore because it’s just not. It wasn’t meant to be. “I had options,” Zayn admits. “But I’d probably be an English major, teach or summat. Figured it’d require less time, pass everything easily enough, and get a steady job with minimum pay.”

“You don’t sound thrilled about it.”

And Zayn snorts so loudly, he’s surprised the next table over hasn’t glanced his way. “What’s there to be happy about?” he asks, and his voice, he knows, veers close to sarcasm laced with anger. “Shit happens, apparently.”

Liam then gives a nod like he’s finally not going to push it any more than he already has; however, he does casually sip on his wine before the low murmur of his voice is in the air. “Then surely there must be something you do to accommodate.”

“You mean work my arse off at a nine-to-five job?” After Zayn asks that, he nods his head instead of replying to his own question.

“Things you love,” Liam corrects, and he sounds quite displeased with Zayn’s answer. Not that he’d think anything wrong with Zayn needing to stay afloat financially, but the fact that it wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “To make up for the loss of one passion, what’ve you replaced it with?”

Often, Zayn’s not an optimistic, but that’s usually because he’s too afraid to get his hopes up in case he’s let down by the end of it. Sometimes having a little faith for a brighter future only worsens a mood, and Zayn’s learned to take one day at a time. It’s easier that way.

However, Zayn’s no stranger to things that help him escape the reality of monthly bills, having a sick mother, that inherit need to take care of his family despite them encouraging him to run and never look back. Yeah, Zayn usually finds his solace in music, likes listening to it late at night, even falling asleep to the sounds of words that he’s memorized in his soul. That, and the fact that he’s taken after his father’s side of the family with art. Zayn knows he’s not spectacular at it, even knows that his father could paint circles around him if he wanted to, but that hadn’t stopped Zayn from trying, and that certainly hadn’t stopped his baba from encouraging him. Even if Zayn thought his rough sketches and graffiti paint were all a bunch of nonsense, at least he’d had approval. That meant a lot.

It’s also probably why Zayn recognizes what Liam’s getting at. Surely there had to be something in his life he enjoyed enough to keep going, to push through all those tough days that held him to his knees, a burden until Zayn struggled and fought to lessen it, if only for a few hours.

“Painting,” he easily says with a bit of awe in his tone. It’s not any kind of spectacular revelation, but with Liam’s question and his sense of wonder has brought out a sense of nostalgia within himself. The last time Zayn allowed himself to indulge within the arts had been nearly a month or two ago. His sketchbooks were stuffed in various nooks and crannies in his room, and there may or may not be a few pictures of his hanging up on the walls of his apartment (mostly because Harry insisted, and Veronica just backed him up), but he hadn’t the time nor the thought to give it a go again. “Art, really,” Zayn amends. “Different kind of freedom, I suppose.”

With that, Zayn leaves it and decides to eat his meal, too. Mostly he’s in the mood to poke at it and not give it a second glance now that the thoughts of his life have been brought forth. However, even though he remains silent and doesn’t choose to take his words further, that doesn’t mean Liam’s not interested, or isn’t pondering what he’s said.

Liam’s currently a little lost in his thoughts, and that’s fine by Zayn because it means he’s out of the path of random questions he probably shouldn’t be answering.

So, the night continues, and there’s a bit of laughter from various parties, and at some point, Liam excuses himself to chat with a few people, even have his picture taken with a group of women who’ve done nothing but stare at him all night. Zayn sees the moment Liam turns away from them, how they all watch him walk away with their cheeks flushed pink. They’re giggly as hell, and that makes Zayn smile from the easiness of simple emotions. Nevermind the fact that Liam has his preferences, and none of them will ever be seen on his arm. It’s the simple fact that they’re living with the what-ifs and being dreamers with respect. The business of the night takes over, and maybe that’s what Zayn comes to realize in the moments when things seem toned down; it’s a busy life, this is, full of half-arsed glamour and appearances, and while there’s a difference between the home he knows, and the world everyone lives in here (Liam included), it’s life at it’s finest, and Zayn’s got the opportunity to experience all of it.

Liam’s allowing him to do so.

So, maybe Zayn gets lost in his own world, and he doesn’t remember Liam paying for their dinner, or pulling out his chair so Zayn can stand up. Maybe it’s difficult for him to draw back the memory of Liam taking his hand in his, snug and mild in feel, a solid squeeze that brings Zayn briefly back down to earth enough to know that Liam’s opening the car door for him, where he slips inside and waits for Liam to join him.

And when they’re tucked in safely, the partition removing their conversation from the driver as the car rolls down the road and onto the highway, surely back to Zayn’s shitty flat, it’s then that he turns away from the city lights that pass over the windows in various hues of orange, yellow, and reds, that he finds his eyes glazed over, rested upon Liam who looks at ease despite such a display of himself tonight.

Zayn takes a chance, and it’s the one thing he knows he’ll end up remembering even if it won’t be important later on down the line; but he opens his mouth, not as dry as he thinks it ought to be, before he asks Liam some simple questions, “And what about you, then? What would your accommodations be?”

Liam doesn’t tense up when he hears Zayn’s voice, but he does turn his gaze upon the younger lad, whether out of respect to whom he’s speaking to, or to simply show off that he’d heard Zayn clearly, he doesn’t know. Though, what Zayn finds staring back at him isn’t something he quite expected, leaves him more confused than with certainty that had revolved around his question. The car is dark, but that doesn’t stop the flickering lights of the city to shine through the windows, casting light onto shadows. It makes faces readable, and the brown’s of Liam’s eyes visible for only ticks of a second, cast in dark, then light a handful of times until Zayn settles on the knowledge that there’s a heavy answer to be given. As expressionless as Liam might seem in the moment, it’s the weariness that catches around the corner of his eyes, the slight pull of his lip, and a haunted glare as if Zayn isn’t even there. Liam doesn’t fail to mask anything, and Zayn would reach out for him to see if he’s okay, but he doesn’t end up following through because the older man’s voice stops him from displaying that kind of affection. “Business is all I’ve ever known,” he says matter-of-factly, the tone not quite matching up to the wistfulness of the eyes. It’s a bit of a wonder all onto itself, but there’s no room to think about the difference when Liam continuous, “Since I was sixteen, it’s been my life. It doesn’t get much more exciting than that.”

Try as he might, Zayn doesn’t pull away from Liam; he keeps his gaze upon the other man until he blinks with understanding that Liam’s not really answered his question in the way that he’d wanted it to be answered. Sure, he got something out of Liam, alright. A tale he isn’t quite sure how to process at the moment, the implications of work being such a monotonous thing in Liam’s life if Zayn had but a moment to spare. Yet, he shakes his head, pulls his eyebrows together before saying, “No, that’s not what I meant.” And he’s grateful for Liam’s admission, to know a part of the older man that he probably hasn’t talked about in quite a long time, but Zayn’s after something else, and honestly, he’s not quite sure what he’ll find when he reapplies his intentions into something more direct. “Your passion? What is it that you love most?”

It’s a variation of the question Zayn had been asked by Liam, only worded a little differently, and while Zayn fully expects to be turned down, not quite sure how much more Liam’s willing to give him, what he isn’t prepared for his the crook of Liam’s lip. It’s such a small gesture that maybe he would’ve missed it if he weren’t so intent on paying attention, but it’s there, and it’s real, and mostly all does is add to the sadness that is still burrowed within Liam’s eyes. It’ll certainly be a look Zayn won’t be able to shake for quite awhile.

“For now, I’ve got you, haven’t I?’ Liam responds like the answer is so very elementary, and he only holds Zayn stare for so long before he’s pulling away to look out of the window.

He leaves Zayn where he is, startled and a little confused because there is no love between them, not in the sense of that word. And the longer Zayn sits in silence and thinks on it, the more it comes to mind that Liam’s either avoided his question with some stupid, half-arsed answer, or really, Liam’s world is a lot less bright than what Zayn’s envisioned.

It’s only Zayn’s first look into the fact that maybe money, power, wealth, stability, and so on and so forth can only do so much for a person. It’d change his life if he had it, but it’s just another day for someone like Liam.

Which then leads to this: while Zayn isn’t all too sure of how Liam ended up in his position of power, what he does find is that he can read between the lines. Sure, and again, Liam could’ve been avoided his question with a silly answer, but his previous statement solidifies a particular kind of truth of Zayn.

Liam might be a workaholic, but maybe that’s due in part to some game-changers in his past. Zayn might’ve been in a different class of wealth, but at least he’s always had something to get him through it— his family, his friends, his _passion_.

What does Liam have to show for himself? A business that is successful, and will be, if not already, an empire. That takes a lot of dedication, maybe a little love, but also a lot of pressure.

Zayn knows pressure; it’s in the bills he pays, and the weight of the world on his shoulders. It’s the opposite of fervor.

Zayn sits back in his seat again, watches the lights pass over the windows, the buildings passing by, and if maybe he carefully sneaks his hand over in Liam’s space, feeling his way around until he feels Liam’s wrist, the watch that surrounds it, and then his hand, then that’ll only be for them to know.

With less than careful actions, Zayn intertwines their fingers together and holds on tight for the rest of their ride.

And then maybe, or maybe not, Liam’s lingering kiss goodbye serves as a grateful _thank you_.

+

“You know,” Harry says, because apparently it’s becoming a routine thing for him to bother Zayn in the early morning. “For someone who wants to be _so_ discreet about their secret relationship, you’ve done a swell job, my friend.”

Zayn kicks his covers out of frustration, an act just so Harry knows that he’s not in the mood. It won’t make the curly-headed fucker leave, but it will let him know that Zayn’s not down for a chat right now. “The fuck you're on about?”

He’s tempted to ask for the time, is way too lazy about actually reaching over and grabbing his phone because if he does that, he’ll have to face the truth. Zayn had been hoping to sleep in today because he’d pulled a double shift yesterday at the store, and his reward was to stay in bed. Something he quite enjoyed if only there weren’t annoying best friends here to ruin it.

“No one in this house, or anyone ever, really, reads the paper,” Harry begins, crawling his way up onto the bed. He pushes up the extra set of pillows Zayn has and uses them to support his back while he sits up against the headboard. “But I knew it’d come in handy one of these days, and who knows, this could’ve spread online, too.”

And with that sudden bit of information, Zayn looks up at Harry (it’s a weird angle, so he squints, too) and frowns. “What’s going on?” There might or might not be a dip of dread in the question, and part of Zayn wants to shake his head and tell Harry to forget it, that he doesn’t want to know. However, then again, despite the horrendous act of being talked to this early in the morning, Harry wouldn’t be in here if it weren’t for something disconcerting.

“This.” Harry simply thrusts the newspaper in front of Zayn’s face, and he has to pull his head back into the pillow just to make out anything on the page. He ends up handling Harry’s arms, moves them up higher so that there’s a good distance between his face and the text.

And then he spots the picture, and Zayn sits up so fast his face smacks right into the news. “Where the hell did you get this?” he hisses.

Harry cocks his head to the side. “The newspaper?”

Zayn’s nostrils must flare, and Harry is good enough to take the hint because he holds his hands up. “I grab one every morning. Like to read it while I have coffee.”

There’s no need to direct his frustrations onto his friend, so Zayn turns back to the page— scratch that, the _article_ written in the paper about the opening of a particular restaurant Zayn had frequented just a week ago. There are a couple of pictures of people, some who Zayn recognizes vaguely with little descriptors off to the side that let any readers know exactly who they are.

And then as Zayn gets to the bottom, there’s a very nice picture of Liam, and then there’s another one, and another one.

Zayn bites his tongue because the last picture is Liam for sure. There’s no mistaking that, but then Zayn’s in it, too.

Well, relatively speaking. See, Zayn’s kinda guarded by Liam’s body, or so it seems. Like, there’s definitely a figure there with dark hair and tan skin, but there’s not much definition in the face, or even enough identifiers that would link it back to Zayn.

So, in all honesty, Zayn shouldn’t have a problem with this, not at all. And sure, he’d joked about it with Liam at the dinner table, thought it’d be cool if someone picked him up just from spotting him on the arm of a relatively famous-ish businessman. But now that Zayn’s staring at a figure that is quite clearly him (well, clear to _him_ because he knows what he looks like, and Harry knows what he looks like, and Veronica knows what he looks like, and his family knows what he looks like).

“Did she see this?” he asks next. “Please, fucking tell me she didn’t see this.”

When Harry doesn’t answer right away, Zayn slaps the paper down into his lap and glances to the right to find his friend’s eyes downcast. “Not really,” he shrugs. “She saw me reading it, kinda asked about it, but that’s it.”

“Fuck,” Zayn breathes. That should be a relief for sure. Maybe his sister wouldn’t have recognized him right away, but there’s a good possibility that if she had stared hard enough, she’d make the connection.

It’s a problem that he’s keeping his secrets to himself, away from his twin, and the one person who’s had his back his entire life. Yet, it’s not the right time or place, and it’s a good thing Harry came to him now rather than later or not at all because fuck if Zayn’s going to sit with this. He meant it when he’d been wary of all the photographers at the event, and maybe Liam put in a good word with some people so that Zayn had been avoided all night.

However, he hadn’t been, at least in some form or another, because he’s more than a little bit of a shadow in a picture with Liam Payne.

And as Zayn returns to the paper, the caption underneath clearly states _Mr. Payne’s new boy toy?_

Goddamnit, all of this rubs him the wrong way. There are probably loads to argue about here, whether the paper’s title is right, whether Zayn is truly just a fuck boy or not. But Zayn would like to believe he can make the label for himself, and the fact that it’s so easy for anyone to twist things out of context leaves him with a tight feeling in his chest.

Then again, he thinks it might be better to go along with this image instead of the one where everyone finds out that they’re both using one another for different purposes, along with the fact that Zayn is being _paid_ to have sex.

A scandal. Fuck. Yeah, that’s what this could lead to, and from what Zayn knows about Liam, it’s not that he can’t necessarily afford one; it’s the fact that someone like him probably doesn’t deserve to have that kind of affiliation because as shady as it might be to actually pay for sex, there’s a reason behind it, one that Zayn understands.

The rest of the world probably wouldn’t.

Knowing that the both of them could get hurt sends Zayn’s head spinning, and before he knows it, he’s out of bed, fumbling with his phone, and dialing Liam’s number.

Harry, however, is quiet as he nods and leaves Zayn to it. Zayn barely has time to send his friend a grateful smile. He’ll thank him later.

And then his thoughts stop there because the ringing of the phone suddenly ends, and Liam’s voice takes its place. “Hello?”

They don’t really call one another often, but Zayn knows that Liam knows who it is. However, he grits his teeth when he remembers that Liam probably doesn’t have days off like Zayn does, can’t afford to sleep in unless it’s on the weekends. It’s no wonder he’s answered without a softer tone; he’s most likely at work and can’t talk.

“I can call back if I need to,” Zayn immediately says, and he tries not to sound panicked because that wouldn’t do a lick of good for any of them.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t make time for you?” Liam hums into the phone, keeping his voice down. Zayn takes that as confirmation that he’s around other people.

Zayn ends up smiling, though, can’t help himself as he bites his lip and thinks about the fact that he could probably start a very decent conversation, one that would consist of getting back into bed and lazily stroking himself to an orgasm while Liam’s forced to listen on the other end of the phone.

Damnit, that really sounds pleasant; however, one of these days, maybe. For now, Zayn’s still on a high of worry. He sighs, shoulders slumping as he sits back down on his bed. “Didn’t mean to bother,” Zayn proceeds, “but like— and I guess it’s none too important to worry about—,” he pauses, not sure how to continue.

Why it’s so hard getting to the point? Maybe it’s because this is him talking to Liam about an issue he doesn’t know how to handle, the fact that Zayn’s going to be asking for a favor, hoping that Liam will honor it.

“Little bird,” Liam’s voice softens, settling down his nerves a bit. “You wouldn’t have called if there wasn’t something upsetting you.”

A blush takes over Zayn’s cheeks, a warm feeling that accentuates within his chest. He’s not quite sure why; maybe it’s the term of endearment Liam’s used when he’s with Zayn, when they’re together, or the fact that he simply cares enough to let Zayn speak his mind.

“There are pictures of you in the local paper,” he explains. “Like, I’m sure you’re used to it.” Zayn picks at the fabric on his bed as a nervous habit, feeling a little shy all of a sudden. He’s quite tempted to pull back and tell Liam that yeah, it’s not a big deal; he’ll leave him to his business, but rather, he keeps going instead. “But there’s one of us together, and like, I’m obscured or whatever, but I know who it is, and I—”

Immediately, Zayn can feel the shift in the air between them, and even though they’re not together and separated by distance, it still doesn’t mean a damn thing when Zayn hears the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “It’s not… can’t be identified,” he tries to preserve the conversation, “but I don’t want to cause trouble for _you_ , specifically, and I wanted—”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Liam doesn’t sound snappy, but his tone is steady, with an edge. He knows it’s not aimed at him, but there’s an inkling of hesitation on Zayn’s part. He probably should’ve waited until Liam was off work, or at least not in a setting where his mood might change. “I didn’t mean to like, make it a big deal or summat,” he tries to backtrack even though it kind of is.

Liam’s speaking again, and Zayn doesn’t have to strain to hear him clearly. “You called me with a genuine concern, babe. There won’t ever be a moment where I’ll fault you for that.”

The whispered _thank you_ slips out before Zayn manages to stop himself and really think about his words, but that’s okay because he can hear the smile in Liam’s voice when he continues, “If I haven’t said this before, then I’ll say it now; while we’re seeing one another, it’s my job to make sure you’re comfortable. Compromising that is a very dangerous path, and one I’m not willing to go down with you.”

“I wouldn’t try anything,” Zayn tries to defend himself. “Wouldn’t even think about dragging you.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Liam corrects himself. “I’m not going to discredit your need for safety. That is as much of my concern as it is yours.”

There may or may not be a small bubble of happiness that rises within Zayn’s heart, but he doesn’t express as much out loud. Instead, Zayn shakes his head even though Liam can’t see and says, “You’re something else, you know that?”

Liam nearly snorts when he huffs out a laugh, and while it sounds less than serious now, what he says next, well, Zayn knows that he means it, too. “I take great care of the things I like.”

Zayn lets a smirk crawl across his face. “And you like me?”

Clicking his tongue, Liam’s voice lowers just a little bit more before continuing. “Very much so, little bird.”

It’s more than thrilling knowing that Zayn’s found himself in a good pair of hands. What’s between Liam and Zayn will stay that way, and there’s an upmost respect for the situation that Liam’s willing to make things right— during this moment and anything else that might come their way in future endeavors.

It’s a bit worrisome to have to think that, though, that something else could threaten what they’ve created for themselves. But Liam’s promise is nothing short of a contract, and Zayn trusts him. Naive is what he may be, but all signs are consistent with one another, and Zayn would be a fool to blow it off for another man, especially since he managed to score one like Liam.

“Good,” Zayn answers cheekily. “That’s good.”

“It is,” Liam agrees, and then not before too long he’s sighing. “I’m going to have to let you go for now, but I’d love to continue this conversation later.”

Zayn hums, and lets himself fall back onto the mattress. “We should,” Zayn agrees, though just as he’s about to disconnect the call, he asks, “Will I see you soon?” And maybe the question should be surprising, him being so forward when it’s usually Liam who initiates their contact, but Zayn isn’t, likes the warmth that swirls in his belly.

“Soon,” Liam promises just before he hangs up, voice a little low and tight like he’s imaging Zayn spread out before him. “I’ll get my hands on you soon, baby.”

Zayn can’t help but shiver in anticipation.

+

“Not the hair, Liam,” Zayn scolds as pulls himself away from Liam’s cock. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Liam’s hand balling into a fist, his hips jerking up from the lack of attention Zayn had previously been giving him.

“Your neck, then, _something_.”

They’re sitting in the back of Liam’s town car, both dressed to the nines because they’re supposed to be heading inside another fancy ass building for some business event Liam has. They won’t be late by any means; at least, that’s according to Liam, but Zayn had wanted to have his own bit of fun before they were due to step into an incredibly stuffy atmosphere.

Besides, Zayn figures this is a little payback for when Liam had gotten him off in the bathroom the first time they’d been seen together. Only now it makes sense to give Liam something to remember for the rest of the night, a subtle reminder anytime Liam glances at him, that he’s the reason Zayn’s lips are a little swollen and pink, eyes still a little glassy from having a cock in his mouth just prior to the event.

Zayn casually blinks in thought before leaning down and flicking his tongue across the tip of Liam’s cock. It’s steadily leaking pre-cum, and Liam’s body is buzzing in anticipation. Zayn can feel where he’s got his hands on Liam’s thighs, doing his best to keep him still while he works his cock in his mouth. “Okay,” he agrees. “But no further.”

After that, Zayn slides his mouth back down around Liam, taking in as much as he can. He makes out the warm contact of Liam’s palm, resting steadily at the base of his neck, holding onto him while Zayn easily sucks, paying attention to Liam.

“Fuck, you should see yourself.” Liam’s voice is a little choked off from Zayn’s actions, but that doesn’t stop him from saying anything at all. Rather, Zayn gives him hum in acknowledgement, pleased from the praise, and that only makes Liam continue. “So good for me aren’t you, baby? Didn’t even have to ask you to suck me off, already so willing.”

“You can fuck my mouth,” Zayn finds himself saying next, keeping close to Liam’s dick so he can continue to lick at it if he can’t have his mouth on it while speaking. “ _Please_ , I want you to.”

Liam cocks a brow, his grip tightening around the back of his neck. “You sure about that, little bird? Think you can take it?”

When Zayn blinks up at Liam through his eyelashes, he’s waiting for it, mouth nearly watering in anticipation. All Zayn really has to do is nod before Liam’s carefully guiding his cock back into Zayn’s mouth with an experimental little thrust. And while he’s prepared for it, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a reaction to it. Sure, he’s not used to having his mouth fucked on the regular, and his eyes water somewhat from the force, but he stays still nonetheless, relaxes his mouth and his body before nodding carefully. It lets Liam know that he’s okay, that he doesn’t have to stop if he doesn’t want to.

Liam starts slow, gently pushes his hips up with care like he’s letting Zayn get used to it. How he has so much control, Zayn doesn’t know. All he can think about is the fact that Liam’s heavy on his tongue, thick and full, and it feels really good to be the one Liam’s making those sounds for.

Zayn relaxes his jaw further as Liam’s stride gets a little longer, a little quicker. Zayn’s prepared, his hands gripping onto Liam’s thighs. Liam takes his hand from around the back of Zayn’s neck and places it underneath the boy’s jaw. His grip is firm as it always is, fingers cupping the underside of Zayn’s mouth until Liam’s fingers are firmly digging into the flesh that makes up the line of his jaw. There isn’t much pain, and even if there was, Zayn’s sure he wouldn’t notice, not with the way that Liam uses his hold as leverage, helps keep Zayn anchored while his hips grow in movement.

By now there’s quite a bit of spit, and that sloppy noise of Liam’s cock sliding past Zayn’s pretty red lips. He tries to keep his eyes open, tries to focus on Liam. Watching Liam is quite mesmerizing, the way he’s leaned back in his cushioned seat, Zayn resting in between his thighs. Liam keeps biting his lip and working his hips, and Zayn knows by now that look Liam gets when he’s close, how his brow pinch closer together, chasing after his orgasm.

Zayn’s lost in those thoughts when Liam pulls him out of them; he drags his thumb over one of the high points of Zayn’s cheek, his hand still firmly cupped around Zayn’s jaw. “I’m close, babe,” he groans.  It’s so breathless and thrilling that Zayn’s quite positive he might just come in his trousers. He closes his eyes, knows that he’ll lose it and end up horribly uncomfortable throughout the night. Zayn had been rather frisky as soon as he’d gotten into the car after Liam had picked him up, a little needy, and it hadn’t helped that Liam had welcomed it.

“You want to swallow?” Liam asks. Zayn can feel his hips stuttering just a bit. His throat is definitely going to be fucked by the end of this, and he might as well pull back and tell Liam to screw it, just come all over his face, but they’ve got plans for tonight, not something they can back out of. Maybe Zayn should have thought that through before decided to enthusiastically ask Liam if he could blow him.

Zayn opens his eyes and looks up at Liam. He tries his best to give a nod given his position and situation, and even still, he’s not going to pull off now and make Liam finish on his own. They’re both in suits, and while Zayn’s probably going to be the only one that looks a little fucked out tonight, it’s best to keep that look to a minimum. Instead, Zayn also gives a low hum, lets Liam whisper an audible _fuck_ , and just after that, Liam’s finally falls over the edge.

Liam’s cock twitches in Zayn’s mouth, grip going a little tighter around Zayn’s jaw while he holds him still. Zayn’s careful when he swallows, knows what’s coming and prepares himself for the taste of cum. It’s not exactly the most pleasant thing he could hope for, but it’s soon gone as he suckles whatever left Liam has to offer. Liam’s thrusts, on the other hand, becomes loose and less deliberate as he rides out his high, only pulling back far enough so that the tip of his cock is resting on the edge of Zayn’s tongue. It’s Zayn who decides to keep his lips over the sensitive head in order to lick clean whatever he might’ve missed, which only leaves Liam whimpering at the contact.

They stay like that for a bit, Liam’s chest rising and falling, just trying to catch his breath. Zayn continues to lick away, finds it amusing when Liam’s cock twitches, and the older man tries to shuffle away from his aftercare. Carefully, Zayn keeps him still until he’s satisfied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he carefully tucks Liam back into his trousers.

There’s an obvious tent in the front of his trousers, he make no move to relieve the mild pain of it. Instead, Zayn finally climbs back up into the seat next to Liam and is quite surprised when Liam leans over and kisses his straight on the mouth, chaste and fierce like Zayn’s actually done him a big favor. “You did so well, baby.”

The look Zayn receives is affectionate, probably much more than necessary, but Zayn takes it. He flushes, and even ducks his head, at the way Liam’s staring at him, and it’s difficult not to feel a little pleased over his praise. “Yeah?” he tries to say, but his voice sounds rough, and that only makes him cringe.

Liam, though, brings Zayn’s gaze back to his by running his thumb across Zayn’s lower lip. “Yeah,” Liam agrees, and then he’s giving Zayn a smile. “Although, you might wanna let me do the talking tonight, little bird.”

Zayn can see the humor in Liam’s eyes as clear as day, the way the brown of his iris’ are a little warmer than normal. Still, that doesn’t stop the frown from blooming across Zayn’s face, or for Liam to find himself in a fit of laughter because of it. His frown quickly changes into a pout, and he ends up pushing Liam’s arm like he’s been wounded by the joke. He’s not truly mad, though, especially when Liam finally climbs out of the car and offers his hand for Zayn to take, that smirk still set upon his features.

Zayn follows Liam, takes ahold of his hand, warm and strong in his, and while there’s the light air around them that contrasts their touch, they eventually make their way to the front of the building. They should’ve been inside nearly thirty minutes ago, but Zayn figures they had good reason to be late. Even still, it’s not as if Zayn would think less of Liam for their tardiness; he knows he’s never met a more perfect gentleman.

+

Ten minutes.

An hour.

Maybe?

Zayn’s not quite sure. Time ticks by so slowly.

There are smiles and twisted words, attractive, young and old people around him. Habits that Zayn is quickly becoming accustomed to in the past two months he’s been presented. He recognizes CEOs with their secretaries (mostly from descriptions Liam’s given him in small talk to familiarize himself), women who bury their face into their date’s neck when they get cheeky, whisper promises of a late night filled with pleasure.

It’s just another event hosted to make way for new project plans in the future, flashy money being spent on land and buildings as if the city actually has the space available for more human consumption. Because that’s ultimately what it is, the necessities, the materialistic, spend money just to make it. Though, Zayn stays silent because it’s not as if he has an opinion, and even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. Liam, however, keeps a hand around his waist, curled around his hip. It keeps them pressed together, a vague attempt at letting down anyone who might want to steal him away for a dance, or a conversation that delves far beyond what’s necessary.

Though, Zayn’s proud of his ability to keep things interesting, to keep Liam on his toes. He’s learned to move with grace and keep his eyes downcast unless he’s introduced and brought into a conversation. It’s easier that way, navigating far beyond questioning eyes and nosey people who want to get a good look at the shiny, new toy Liam’s brought around. He’s valued above that, Zayn knows, but it does make his stomach twist, his previous hesitations have greatly subsided now that he’s done this a time or two. But it still leaves the occasional bit of tension; there are no surprises left by now, and Zayn takes comfort in the warmth of Liam’s body pressed next to his, the both of them surviving through an endless amount of chatter.

There’s only so much either of them can take when it comes to office gossip, and that seems to be a biggest hit of the night— who’s left who for whom, and who’s sleeping with the guy in the IT department, or, well, who the boss is fucking.

Zayn keeps from clearing his throat, and he definitely glances at Liam out of the corner of his eye on that one. Liam doesn’t look unfazed by any of it— that hadn’t even been aimed at him, let alone his company. Rather, there’s a small spark of amusement as he sips on his glass of Krug, the one Zayn had earlier, who handed it off to Liam before he himself shrugged and downed the entire thing just to get rid of it. It’d been absolutely disgusting, and the look on his face after he’d given it a taste had only served to entertain Liam.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” he whispers to Liam. A red-headed woman is standing across from them, hands on her hips while firmly explaining to the other three people in their group that it’s absolutely okay for them to fire employees under false pretenses. Zayn’s trying not to frown, and he can tell by the crease in Liam’s brow that he’s about to step in at any moment and correct this _wrong_ opinion.

Liam turns his head towards Zayn; he’d been waiting for some kind of dismissal, Liam instead gives him a smile. “If you wanted out of boring conversation, you should probably make up better excuses than that.”

His tone is soft so that no one else can hear them, and there’s amusement flowing across his features as Zayn rolls his eyes with fondness and answers, “Then I’ll be taking a bathroom break while you get to deal with this nonsense.”

The bright smile Liam gives him is enough for Zayn to duck his head and shyly look to the group of people they’re surrounded by. No one has given their conversation the time of day, still too heated on theirs, and that proves useful. Well, that’s until Liam’s fingers brush against Zayn’s jaw, drawing him back in for a moment. “Take as long as you need; we won’t be here for too long.”

Zayn gives a nod, and plans to turn away from Liam to make his getaway. Though Liam keeps him there for another second while he presses his lips firmly to the corner of Zayn’s mouth. He’s startled at first until Zayn remembers that they’re meant to be acting like they are more than people with a common understanding that includes sexual benefits. As soon as Liam’s drawn back, Zayn can feel eyes on him.

Liam’s only being cautious, and Zayn’s glad for it. Appearances might not mean much in particular cases, but they’re enough to stir concern.

“Don’t know how you do it, Liam. Always the pretty ones.”

Zayn might’ve slowed down his walk, not really knowing whether Liam was keeping tabs on his retreating body, just so he could hear what might have come next in the conversation he just left. Eavesdropping might be wrong, but Zayn certainly expects some witty, demeaning remark to be given now that he’s not in the vicinity.

Although, maybe Zayn just needs to stop picking and choosing the times in which he thinks he’ll be nothing more than a mockery. The easy, “His name is Zayn,” rolls off of Liam’s tongue quite sharply, leaves the younger man in question with a hint of a smile across his lips.

Trust Liam to defend the things he cares about.

“We have common interests,” Liam proceeds. “And I wasn’t aware we were all superficial.”

The round of laughter blatantly means that everyone is taking Liam’s words as nothing more than a joke. It also means that that’s Zayn’s cue to keep walking. He’d have loved to have been there —a fly on the wall because surely they wouldn’t keep up that kind of small talk if he were around— just to see Liam’s face, whether it’d fall short of a frown, or if he’d smile with laughter amongst the higher class.

Zayn doesn’t expect any defenses on his behalf, but it’s nice to know that Liam was proper enough to give him that.

+

Despite giving an excuse to back out of petty conversation, Zayn actually does make good on his promise by heading to the bathroom to relieve himself. He does his business and doesn’t mess about before retreating back to Liam’s side.

But that also doesn’t mean he doesn’t get distracted.

There’s a table full of champagne with a server who looks quite polite, and while Zayn had grimaced at his previous glass, he can already feel a tense line in his shoulders. He’s mostly bored, if anything, and taking advantage of free liquor sounds relatively pleasing.

So, that’s where Zayn heads off to, determine to do something useful with what little time he has before he needs to go find Liam.

Easily enough, Zayn’s handed a drink, and he steps to the side to make way for other people who intend to enjoy the easy flow of alcohol. In the meantime, Zayn people-watches, casually walking amongst the throngs of people who are either seated at tables or gathered in groups. His observations from earlier come back, the steady monotone rhythm of various voices all chiming in just to get a word in, how laughter may or may not be included, and whether it’s real or not is anyone’s best guess.

For a moment, Zayn pictures himself in one of these high-ranking positions— maybe something like Liam’s, or any of the CEOs that dazzle and charm their way through another night. Zayn already looks the part, quite dapper in his suit, the only one he actually owns now. He’s still not quite as sharply dressed, using gel to slick back his hair, subtle sprays of Harry’s cologne to make it seem like maybe he actually gave a damn.

It’s not difficult to imagine himself tucking a hand into his pocket, holding a stance of sway that’s savvy enough to draw attention, with business smarts, and information that makes it seem like he’s way too smart to be here. It’s not necessarily a dream Zayn’s ever had, but it does throw some perspective on his life. Not that he’s not already familiar with his downfalls and the easy comparisons any one of these people could make if they only knew his true profession. Liam wouldn’t give that up, and neither would Zayn, but it does pose a twist in his stomach that doesn’t subside. Those thoughts swirl in his fuzzy little mind, there’s a gentle hand pressed against his back.

Because in the moment, he doesn’t know any better, Zayn actually leans into it until he hears a voice that he doesn’t recognize. Jerking away might’ve not been the best course of action; he proceeds to spill a little bit of his drink down the side of the glass and onto his hand.

“Careful there,” the new company says, “wouldn’t want you all wet.”

For reasons unknown (well, maybe not so much, if only Zayn were given a moment to think about it), Zayn’s jaw clenches. The hand is still on him, just a little lower and pressed against his hip. It feels wrong, way too big and heavy, and Zayn doesn’t appreciate some stranger coming up to him and touching him like this.

And he’s even about to say as much before something stops him in his tracks. Zayn should know by now that he’s not been very lucky in his life, and just because he’s got a little more cash to his name and an acquaintance who likes to sleep with him, doesn’t mean all of his bad fortune has dissipated.

“Some of us would, anyway.”

Zayn’s nostrils flare, and while he aims to step away, effectively removing the hand from his side, he finds that there’s now a grip there, keeping him still. “Excuse me?” he asks, voice dreadfully low as he glances to his left. Zayn should probably be panicked, and maybe he’s headed down that path with the way his chest rises and falls a little bit faster, but more than anything, Zayn’s pissed.

“Those of _us_ ,” and he says it like he’s referring to a very specific group of people, something Zayn hasn’t figured out yet, “spot it so easily. My name is Jeff, and when Liam’s done with you,” he grins but keeps his eyes ahead of him like both Zayn and him are having friendly conversation, “how about you come over to mine?”

It’s difficult to swallow after that question, makes Zayn sick to his stomach. He can’t even bring himself to sharply stare at Jeff, this man who thought all of this was appropriate at a place like this, at a _time_ like this.

“I’d love to give you a ride to remember.”

And something inside Zayn leaves him feeling cold and practically useless, his limbs stiff, body rigid.

That is, until his brain catches up, and Zayn pulls himself away from this man’s grasps, turns on his heel to face a complete stranger who figured he had the right to say anything about Liam to Zayn at all. They don’t know one another, and they’re at some goddamn event, and he’s trying to play this shit with Zayn as if it’s that easy for him to give himself over.

He opens his mouth to speak, not really knowing what it is that he wants to say. All Zayn knows is that there’s lingering anger and defensiveness about him he wasn’t aware he had.

However, whatever he’d been planning to say doesn’t ever make it out of his mouth because another voice cuts into the silence. “Going after estranged guests, are we now?”

It doesn’t belong to Zayn nor Jeff, and they’re both left looking at an approaching figure.

Zayn would be lying if he said his heart didn’t sink further into his chest.

This new guy who thought it’d be appropriate to make his presence known looks quite intimidating. It’s the first thing Zayn notices, and there’s a spark of hope that maybe he’ll be kind enough to help Zayn out of this predicament. There’s no way of knowing, not until he can figure out why the guy is here.

Fortunately enough, it’s a lot quicker than expected.

“Just entertaining,” Jeff replies with. He looks hesitant now, like he knows he’s been caught, and Zayn briefly wonders how many times a man like himself as tried to worm his way in between people’s bed sheets.

“By the looks of it,” the newcomer says, “you’re doing quite the opposite. I suggest you return to your party. You know how heavily guarded these things are.” There’s a bit of a smile, something wicked, maybe, that proves he’s not just lying through his teeth.

Zayn feels that maybe it’s good to have this guy on his side, if it only means that he’ll be able to make his escape as soon as this entire altercation is over with. For now, he’s left feeling fidgety, is left with the urge to run his hands through his hair despite it being perfectly done for the night. “Wouldn’t take kindly to your actions, I’d say.”

There’s nothing left to say after that, apparently, because before Zayn knows it, Jeff is bowing out and taking off. That leaves Zayn on his own with another stranger, and while his relief had been felt at the sight of a retreating arsehole, it spikes up again when he notices the other lad walking a little closer to him.

“Liam’s probably looking for you,” he says, completely taking Zayn by surprise. “It’d do us some good to go find him now.”

The man before him starts walking away, and Zayn’s left to quickly catch up with him, as if he should really be following someone he doesn’t know. He soon finds that Liam comes into view, and that he hasn’t been misled. More than anything, he’s just happy for that fact, quite hates that he feels like a little duckling that needs to be kept out of harms way, however.

Liam spots the man before Zayn first given that he’s walking in front of him, there’s a hint of recognition in his features, but his eyes soon slide over to Zayn. The raise in his brow lets Zayn know that he’s curious, and the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind how he’d addressed his sudden reappearance with someone Liam might call a friend.

“Louis,” Liam immediately greets without taking his eyes off of Zayn. He approaches him carefully, easily sliding a hand around Zayn’s waist and squeezing his side as if his absence really did do a number on him. “Decided to show up this time.”

“Couldn’t leave you by yourself,” Louis replies. “A real disaster in the making.” And despite his attempt at an insult, it only brings a smile to Liam’s lips rather than a frown. They both look pleased to see one another, more so Liam because apparently Louis isn’t for the flashiness of parties like this.

And so Zayn glances at the other man and finds him shrugging at Liam like they’re having a silent conversation. Zayn doesn’t glance up at Liam to see if he’s right. He more than focuses on the fact that Louis has the clean-cut look of someone important.

Funny how it takes a moment for everything to click into place.

“You work together,” he says out loud, and then flushes deeply when he feels two sets of eyes trained on him.

“Yes,” Liam eventually says. “Louis likes to feed me to the sharks, mostly. Doesn’t have the knack for communicating with people before he’s pissed them off.”

Louis, on the other hand, certainly presses a hand against his chest, acting as if he’s wounded by Liam’s sentiments. “You just don’t trust me, Liam. I’ve a way with words.”

Liam snorts and shakes his head. “Of course I don’t. You’d sink our business if it wasn’t for me.”

That statement alone is meant as a joke, and while it looks like Louis knows it’s true, that doesn’t stop him from glaring at Liam. “How about we not do this in front of company.”

Zayn knows that Louis is talking about him, but finds it odd he’s not quite embarrassed of themselves in front of a room full of people. Of course, no one’s really paying attention to them, but maybe that proves Liam’s point when he said that Louis really doesn’t have the personality to sway people.

“Right,” Liam agrees. “So you’ll tell me how you met Zayn, then?”

Which Liam has the right to be curious because it is odd that Louis had found Zayn, knew who he was, too, apparently. Or maybe he’d just seen Liam and him together and drew some conclusions.

Either way, Zayn glances over to Louis and keeps his mouth in a straight line. He’d plead with him not to say anything of the incident earlier if Liam wasn’t around, should’ve probably done that before they set off to find Liam. But it’s too late, and all Zayn can do is give a small smile in Louis’ direction in hopes that maybe he’ll take pity on him.

“We’re good friends, Liam. You think I wouldn’t know when there’s someone new in your life?”

By the look Louis is sending Zayn, it’s clear that he knows about that night in the office. Whether he heard them, or whether Louis confronted Liam after the fact, well, it doesn’t really matter too much now, does it? Louis knows (maybe not to the extent of Liam and Zayn’s agreement), but he’s set on causing them a little bit of grief for his own amusement.

“Nosey as ever,” Liam says, brushing him off.

“Only when you’re fond.”

Zayn feels Liam stiffen next to him, his body rigid all of a sudden before he relaxes. Zayn acts like he didn’t notice, wants to save him from having to answer to something he might now want to. It’s probably a line of questioning Zayn doesn’t even want to go down himself. He could draw conclusions about what Louis means by that, even go so far as to ask Liam what the hell that’s supposed to mean, but Zayn’s not going to dwell on a silly little comment.

“Kind of my job to protect my investments,” Louis continues, hands shoved in his pocket and already looking most displeased as he glances around the room. “Let’s hope you’ll keep doing the same.”

Now, that might’ve been a dig at Zayn, and part of him should probably feel insulted that someone like Louis honestly believes that Zayn would do anything to harm Liam and his company. But then again, he does have to look at it from his perspective, from Liam’s, too. Zayn’s a nobody who has saddled himself next to Liam for money. He’d hate to think of himself as a nuisance, but he’d like to believe he’s giving as much as he’s receiving. He wouldn’t be able to dismantle anything, but he could tarnish a company, draw some serious lines in the sand for himself, and ultimately end up left with nothing if spite and bitterness was Liam’s forte.

Sometimes Zayn wonders if he’s the only person in his position who thinks like this. Or maybe his line of thought has to do with the unresolved guilt he feels for not making peace with what he’s doing just yet. He feels right, but it’s that lingering doubt and judgment of others that makes him squirm. Louis isn’t helping him feel any better about it.

“There’s an agreement,” Liam ends up saying, careful with the way he’s phrasing his words. “We’ve nothing to worry about.”

Louis takes that for what it is and eventually bows out of the conversation after that.

“I’m sorry for him,” is the next thing out of Liam’s mouth. He turns to face Zayn, dropping his hand from around his waist. “He’s a bit much to handle if you’re not used to it.”

Which, Zayn is inclined to agree, but then again he’d prefer not to given Louis had gotten out of a particularly unpleasant situation. The other man had even gone so far as not to speak a word of it to Liam, and that in itself was enough to prove to Zayn that Liam had good friends and good instincts when it comes networking and centering himself around people who knew their place.

“Quite the charmer,” Zayn attempts to joke, and while he’s no comedian, it does lighten the mood.

They don’t stay for too long after that, just a few more rounds to make, a few more people to say hello to, and then Liam’s escorting him out of the building, taking Zayn’s hand and guiding him to the entrance where they wait for Liam’s driver to bring the car around.

Zayn assumes that tonight will end with this, with Liam sliding into the car next to him, keeping a hand on his thigh and making small talk while they taken to the dingy part of town. But instead, it seems like they take a tour around the city, driving past buildings and the lights while Liam points and admires. Liam speaks quietly with enthusiasm as he mentions his love for the city, the car horns and the busy nightlife that surrounds them. Zayn finds himself endeared, more than anything, randomly coming to the conclusion that for tonight, at least, things aren’t so bad if he just lets himself relax and not think too much about all the wrong things going on in his life.

It’s easy to take pleasure in the simple things when there’s someone willing to guide Zayn.

And he knows that come morning Zayn will have to wake up and head off to work, spend his time earning a less than stellar paycheck. But it’ll be worth it because it’s for himself and his family; it’ll give him a sense of accomplishment, and even if he’s not as prestigious as someone like Liam, or even Louis with the fact that they’ve built themselves up from nothing, it’s a start; it’s something to Zayn, and it’s meager and probably not worth the time or effect in the long run, but he’s trying.

The point, however, is that despite the obvious differences, there’s never been a moment where Liam’s faulted him for his predicament, not like the sneers of people that glance his way at all those fancy parties Liam’s taken him to (the ones he’s ignored, but caught the looks of from time to time. Just envious people, perhaps). Not like Louis who had been cautious on keeping an eye out for Liam and given Zayn the benefit of the doubt.

For tonight, Zayn feels a comfort for the first time in quite awhile. Surely it won’t last, and he’ll be dragged under at some point with the anxiety and fright of the outcome of his decisions. But for now, Zayn can’t help but feel good.

“Are you tired?”

Liam’s voice rings out amongst the silence, and Zayn finds that he’s pressed close into Liam’s side without even knowing when that had happened. It’s nice, though, and he’s not complaining when Liam turns into him, noses his cheek before subtly pressing a kiss into his hairline.

“No,” Zayn answers truthfully, and he lets all his inquiries fade for the time being. “Probably should be after tonight.”

Liam hums in agreement before asking, “My intention is to take you back home, but I think I’d rather finish what you started earlier.”

Really, he doesn’t mean to give himself away, but surely Liam can tell the effect of his words when Zayn’s breath goes a little shallow, eyelashes fluttering as he blinks away the hazy thought of Liam taking him again. “Yeah?”

“Is that okay with you?”

Zayn smirks and turns away from Liam to look out of the window. It proves futile since he has to look past Liam to the world around. He’d have to move back to his seat in order to even see anything out of his own. “Do you even have to ask?”

The click of Liam’s tongue proves he’s dissatisfied with that question. “Always.”

And that stirs something else deep inside Zayn’s belly. “Then I guess my answer is no, I don’t mind.”

Eventually, Zayn catches Liam’s gaze, and even though it’s dark in the car, the brown of Liam’s eyes still glitter, the surge of want resting just around his irises. “We could find a hotel,” Liam suggests then, like it’s completely normal to spend a night in the city despite the fact that he lives here already. “Or I could take you back to mine.”

Zayn’s features even out when Liam mentions that. There hadn’t been any discussion of actually spending time at each other’s places, and even still, Zayn would completely be against Liam coming over in any capacity. It’s not that there’s a lack of trust, but his dingy apartment shared with his twin sister and his best friend is lackluster in comparison to the place that Liam must dwell in, and the thought of something highbred stepping into his shitty flat doesn’t sit well with him.

That’d bring a lot of shame, and Zayn’s already dealing with it enough as he is.

But, still, that doesn’t bring about an answer. A hotel is plausible and what they’ve done before considering Liam’s a busy man, and it’s easier for him to stay closer for business when he can’t be bothered to travel back home at night. It’s either that, or Zayn meets Liam at his office, and while both seem such odd places to spend their nights together, it serves the purpose they’re both here for.

Yet, Liam actually offering his home for Zayn to step into is like, well, it’s not exactly a wakeup call as much as it is slightly terrifying. Liam’s not incredibly reserved, but Zayn’s not quite sure how he’d feel stepping into someone’s house.

Thing is, he wouldn’t leave anything behind, no traces that he was ever there. It won’t be tainted by any memories except those that brought complete sexual gratification, and unless they both end up scarred beyond repair, Zayn finds it difficult to imagine Liam would regret bringing Zayn to his place.

“Wouldn’t want to put you out by spending money on a hotel,” Zayn says casually. It’s not a joke, more like a prod to Liam’s rib because they both know money’s not an issue.

But then Liam’s turning in his seat, and Zayn does his best not to whine in protest because Liam had been solidly pressed against his side. It was quite nice, but then Liam’s pointing out of the back window, and Zayn’s following that line of vision and wondering what the hell he’s supposed to be looking at.

“You see that?” Liam asks him. “The one with the white lights on the top.”

Zayn does; there’s a multitude of tall buildings all situated near one another. Some are business as Liam had pointed out earlier, and Zayn must’ve missed the one Liam’s wanting him to look at. “Yeah,” he says slowly, not understanding where Liam’s going with this.

“That’s a hotel, deep in the heart of the city,” the older man continues. He drops his hand but doesn’t fail to turn away from the sight before him.

“And you want to stay there?” Zayn glances up at Liam with curiosity. It really wouldn’t matter where Liam took them. It’d be somewhere in the city anyway, a price Zayn would never really know of because Liam would foot the bill and then some.

Liam shrugs his shoulder and says, “We can. I own it.”

That takes a second to process, but then Zayn’s straining to look at the building as they move away from it little by little. He then turns back to Liam and finds that the lad is already looking at Zayn with interest. “You _own_ it?” Zayn asks, his voice dipping low like he’s having trouble believing anything Liam’s telling him now.

Liam purses his lips, though. “Guess I forgot to mention what I do for a living.”

Zayn snorts and briefly turns back to the back window. “You think.” There might be a bit of awe in his tone, some heavy puzzle pieces slotting themselves together.

No, Liam’s never brought him to that hotel before, and logically it might make sense for that to be the case anytime Liam’s in the area, but it also proves that Liam probably tried to keep that little secret under wraps, hadn’t wanted to walk into a place that called him boss like that. Especially if Zayn was perched so delicately on his arm.

“How many?”

“Three,” Liam tells him. “One here, and two others so far. We’re expanding slowly, and it’s not our only source of income, but it’s a start.”

“You want destination hotels, then?” Zayn goes on because obviously this is stuff Liam’s thought about before, has taken into consideration.

“Imagine flying to another country and having a hotel under your name,” Liam describes. “Louis’ a part of it, too, but it started as a dream.”

And Zayn can imagine that. It fits Liam so well, and part of Zayn is happy that he has that for himself, even if it is shared with another individual. It’s nice to see that things are working out for people other than himself, and while one might be bitter, or even envious, of the things brought forth in other people’s lives, Zayn just knows that at least Liam’s working towards something he believes in. He hopes to succeed one of these days, and if there were any footsteps he’d think about follow, it certainly would be Liam’s.

“You haven’t decided yet.”

“Why must I make the choice?”

Liam gives Zayn a look, but then he nods like that’s an answer itself.

Before Zayn knows it, Liam’s handing out instructions to their driver. Of course, Zayn’s not familiar with the address given, and he figures that maybe they’ll turn around and head back to the hotel Liam had pointed out to him earlier. Instead, Zayn finds that fifteen minutes later, they’re pulling up in front of a rather tall building.

Liam’s the first to step out of the car, bending down and reaching out his hand for Zayn to take. He does, and as soon as he’s outside, Zayn’s given a better view of his surroundings. The main street seems blocked off by variations of trees, giving the building a sense of privacy. There’s a doorman who greets Liam by name, who gives Zayn only a glance with no other kind of judgment defined in his eyes.

The lobby is lavish, and the elevator even more so, and it takes quite awhile for Zayn to realize that this is where Liam lives, where he sleeps, and eats, and likes being.

He doesn’t think he’s ready for this, can already see the expression on his face through the reflection of the elevator as the lights move up in number, one by one. He doesn’t count, doesn’t even want to begin to think which floor Liam lives on until they’ve finally stopped, and Liam’s gently guiding him out of the elevator.

From that point and on, it’s a bit of a whirlwind, no time for Zayn to gather his thoughts because it’s more about Liam getting them inside, throwing his keys into a bowl near the door before turning on Zayn and crowding him against the wall.

Zayn doesn’t allow himself to think any further than that, just concentrates on how Liam’s hand feels against his skin, how he sucks at his neck and rakes his fingers through Zayn’s hair. Liam quickly undresses him in the hallway, a trail of clothing left behind their wake as Liam guides them both into the closest room available: the kitchen. It’s neatly decorated from what Zayn can tell, but it’s not as if he’s giving it too much attention, not when Liam’s gathering him in his arms, setting him on top the counter like he’s nothing more than food meant to be eaten.

And really, Zayn would laugh at that if it weren’t for Liam gently pushing him down against the cold granite in a dark flat that really, he probably has no business actually being in. All he feels is Liam’s tongue on him after that anyway, how Liam makes no effort in pressing kisses against the length of his torso, lets Zayn’s legs fall over Liam’s shoulders as he licks and bites his way down to the warmest parts of his body.

Truly, Zayn isn’t prepared for the tongue that laps at his entrance, is completely mesmerized by the way Liam easily opens him up like it’s the simplest thing the world. And after Zayn’s on the edge of spilling over, with Liam fisting Zayn’s cock, squeezing just to hold off Zayn’s orgasm, he leaves him there in search of both a condom and some lube.

Zayn whimpers at the loss of contact, but Liam’s back quicker than he expected. They’re both breathless and a little too eager, especially as the slide of Liam inside of him burns something good, stretches him open and leaves Zayn panting Liam’s name like he needs this all the time.

He doesn’t last long after that, spurts of cum coating his tummy while Liam fucks him through his high.

By the time Liam spills into the condom, burying his face in Zayn’s neck, only the sound of heavy breathing fills the room. And if by chance Zayn catches Liam drawing lazy circles across his stomach, spreading Zayn’s spunk around as if it was actual paint meant to create a masterpiece, well he stomps down the lingering thought of asking Liam if he could stay a little longer just to feel the way Liam might want to cover Zayn with his own.

He doesn’t, though, knows better than to ask for more, and Liam’s already cleaning him up by the time he can wrap his head around the possibility.

Liam’s careful with him afterwards, like always, does his best to wipe away the sweat and their messes. Zayn sometimes still manages to look fucked out no matter how hard they both try to disguise it, but Zayn just kisses away Liam’s worry, that no one would care about the way he looked as much as they would Liam.

In record time, Zayn’s dressed while Liam ends up on the phone with someone. At first, Zayn thinks he’s meant to show himself out, but the topic at hand suggests that Liam’s calling for Zayn’s ride.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Liam asks as he slips his clothes back on, more rucked up than Zayn if he’s being honest. They take the elevator again, Liam going so far as to show him out of the building where there’s a car waiting idle at the curb.

“Pretty sure I can make it home from here,” Zayn reassures. The offer is nice, but Liam’s already home from a long evening, and Zayn’s better off going alone anyway.

Liam nods, though, and doesn’t protest even though it looks like he wants to. There’s no one out here to see them, except the driver of the car who knows it’s better to mind his own business if he wants to continue being paid, and the doorman who Zayn knows has probably seen way more than what he’s witnessing now. Pretty standard, is probably what the doorman believes.

Without another word, Liam’s opening the door of the car, and just before Zayn gets in, Liam’s reaching forward and taking his hand. He gently twists it around so that Zayn’s palm is facing upwards, and then he’s placing what Zayn knows is money in his hand. Liam makes sure Zayn’s fingers are curled around the bills before he lets go, only then he cups the underside of Zayn’s jaw and brings him in for a lingering kiss.

“For tonight,” he whispers against Zayn’s lips, so soft and quiet that Zayn might’ve thought he hadn’t said a thing at all if he weren’t paying attention.

But then Liam’s stepping back, removing his warmth away from Zayn, and suddenly, he feels a chill run down his spine. It’s not from the weather, and Zayn can’t really pinpoint it, but he does nod at Liam and smile with gratitude before simply saying, “Thank you.”

And then that’s how Zayn’s night ends, climbing into the car and being whisked away after a long night of subdued fun with a load of cash in the palm of his hand (that he can’t bear to pocket just yet), and the faint reminder of Liam’s lips on his.

+


	2. Chapter 2

+

“You need to open this right now because I’m getting antsy.”

Zayn looks down at what Harry’s shoved angst his chest, reaching forward to take hold of it. He’d just woken up, gotten dressed, and decided to head to the kitchen for something to eat

“I don’t think you know how difficult it was having to wait for you to wake up.” The lad’s green eyes are wide as he blinks and motions for Zayn to quit holding the damn envelope and do something with it. “Took way too much effort to convince myself that I had to wait to open it. Be happy.”

And then he’s rolling his wrist in a hurry up kind of movement, and Zayn shakes his head before getting to it.

It’s nothing but a white envelope, his name written eloquently on the smooth side. The other half isn’t just tucked in, but sealed as if someone went out of their way to make sure the card was damn near perfect. “Where’d you get this?” Zayn asks as he tries to wiggle a finger under the flap so it’ll rip it open.

“Some guy came to the door.”

Zayn snorts before replying, “The postman?”

Harry clicks his tongue, and if Zayn were to look up right now, he’s sure he’d find Harry a little peeved with his remark. “No, you asshole,” he says sarcastically. “Mail doesn’t just come with your name on it like that.”

He lets it go because Harry’s not really pissed, rather just annoyed that Zayn’s being difficult. So, he works on ripping the thing open, could probably do with finding some scissors or a knife, knowing good and well they don’t actually own something as fancy as a letter opener.

What Zayn finds inside, with Harry leaning too far over, the curls of his hair falling in the way to the point where Zayn has to push him back a little, is a rather blank card. It’s white, and gives a simple apology, and Zayn’s not quite sure what that means just yet.

Until he opens it.

He’s not careful as he does so, and as Zayn’s aiming to find out what this is about, something drops out and falls to Zayn’s feet. It makes a rather clanky noise, hitting the tile of the room before bouncing off to the side. Harry’s probably following the movements just as Zayn is, and when it finally lands and stays still, Zayn’s looking up at his friend with a scrunched brow. “It’s a key.”

Amidst his confusion, Harry reaches down for the silver thing, holding it up and cocking his head to the side like what he’s seeing is some kind of trick. “Might want to keep reading, maybe?”

Zayn shakes out of his thoughts and fumbles with the card, opening it wider so he can finally see its contents. There are only a few short lines written, all of it done in a scratchy kind of cursive.

_Hope you like it. - Liam_

“Well?”

Zayn coughs and wonders if he should lie. It might be better to figure out why Liam decided to give him a key - a million and one thoughts swirling in Zayn’s head, just trying to figure out what the fuck it’s supposed to mean - first before Harry gets involved. But then again, if he has no clue, it’s only going to make matters worse when Harry catches on and finds that Zayn is just as lost as he. “It’s from Liam,” he says, folding the card up and placing it back in the envelope. “But it doesn’t say anything else.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Harry then draws, fingers curling around the key before Zayn reaches for it. “That might’ve been what he meant, then.”

Raising his brows, Zayn’s lip thin. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Because really, the idea does not sit well with Zayn, that Harry could’ve possibly spoken to Liam. Granted, Harry mentioned someone came to the door, didn’t say who, and it might’ve not been Liam, after all. Especially since they’ve never crossed that line, the one where Zayn brings Liam home as if they’re something more. Last night was an exception, Zayn’s sure, and besides, Liam’s house had felt more professional anyway, hadn’t even looked all that lived in.

Shuffling his feet, Harry nods towards the front door. “Kinda forgot that there’s someone waiting for you outside, said they had a car ready.”

There’s something Zayn’s about to tell Harry, maybe telling him off for not being all too clear while they’re standing in the living room of their little apartment, but Harry beats him in speaking. “Slipped my mind,” Harry says, waving his hand and subtly pointing to his head. “S’not often you get people coming around here handing out random letters, especially from lover boy.”

“Harry-"

“I get it,” the other lad motions for Zayn to calm down, a little whimsical in his actions. “I do; you don’t like me teasing you about it, but there’s more fun in that. Besides,” and as he ceases to move his hand, he holds up a finger instead, further keeping Zayn from speaking, “I’m finally getting to witness how part of this situation works, and let me tell you,” Harry looks quite serious, but his eyes read otherwise as he continues with, “this is not a bad setup.”

“I don’t even know what this is yet,” Zayn says, holding up the key so it’s in plain sight.

Harry shrugs, though, before a smile slowly starts to make its way across his face. “Wanna find out?”

Zayn groans and is tempted to throw back his head, but like, unfortunately, there are responsibilities. “Work, Haz. It’s gonna have to wait.”

The attempted lip pout would probably work on Zayn if he knew he didn’t have major plans (not that work is anything he ever would willingly plan for if it wasn’t a necessity), but duty calls, and Zayn doesn’t have the time, nor does he have the flexibility to call in sick. “Later,” he tries to reason. “We’ll figure it out later.”

“You could call-,"

“No,” Zayn shakes his head, completely dismissing that idea. “I’m not going to call him right now. Whatever the hell this is,” with the palm of Zayn’s hand finally curling around the key, wanting to keep it safe, “it’s going to have to wait.”

And really, Harry should take Zayn’s answer for what it is, but apparently that’s not good enough for his curious mind, Zayn on the edge of a comment about how Harry should probably sod off and figure out what the hell he’s even got scheduled for today.

But that’s not the kind of person Harry is, and Zayn knows that very well, especially when Harry says, “Why don’t I go find out?”

Zayn’s best friend looks quite eager, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell him that it’s really none of his business. Yet, if Harry’s willing to go out of his way for him, more out of curiosity than a legit friend helping a friend, then it couldn’t hurt, could it? “There’s no instructions,” Zayn decides to say, his only defense to deter Harry.

“Driver’s outside, remember?”

Yeah, that does ring a bell, and if that’s the case, then Zayn might as well put Harry out of his misery and let him do what he wants. “Okay,” Zayn agrees with a nod. “On the condition that I get dropped off at work, and as soon as you figure out what the hell this is,” and he holds up the key before dropping it in Harry’s open hand, “you call me.”

Harry purses his lip like he's considering Zayn’s proposition, but really, he looks a little too excited about the fucking key. So, honestly, it’s no surprise that he answers with an, “Okay.”

“Good, then it’s settled.” Although, Zayn can’t say his stomach feels the same.

+

The morning rolls around rather quickly, and despite the little happening from this morning, Zayn finds that it’s just another boring day. If he’s not making a list of items they need to reorder, then he’s behind the register, and if he’s not there, then he’s certainly cleaning up a spilled mess left behind by a child with no manners.

So really, and all in all, it’s just the same old shit, just a different day. Not much is interesting, and there’s not a whole lot of action that keeps him entertained. Zayn’s used to slow days, and he’s used to relatively busy days, too, dealing those who ask him questions, or compliment him for being oh so smart by only being a helping hand.

It’s not until around one, near the end of Zayn’s lunch break that things take a rather interesting turn. Harry hadn’t texted him, hadn’t called with any news about Zayn’s mysterious key, and while that curiosity is biting at him, he’s not too worried about that. Surely it wouldn’t be a key to Liam’s place, and just because they had sex there doesn’t mean that’s a welcome invitation. Even still, Zayn’s sure they haven’t spent long enough in each other’s company to warrant that kind of move anyway. Unless Liam’s very trusting, and well, even if that was the case, Zayn doesn’t think he’d be able to accept that kind of offer.

Nothing about this sounds fishy, however. It’s most likely another gift from Liam after last night, another little thank you that they agreed upon. But, when he thinks about it like that, then it sounds like he’s already gotten used to rather expensive gifts, like Zayn’s already bored with the game of Liam going out of his way to make sure Zayn’s comfortable.

That’s not the case, though. Zayn’s very much grateful and very much interested in what Liam has and will in the future, give him. Which then kind of poses the problem of sounding greedy, but Zayn signed up for this, not just for the thrill, but to get something in return.

And really, maybe it’s because he doesn’t like surprises, and that’s what’s causing his partial disinterest in whatever Liam’s gotten him.

In any case, his phone rings, and Zayn doesn’t bother looking at who it is before he’s answering with a quick, “Hello.”

“ _Zayn_.”

It takes him a moment to place the voice considering it sounds nearly astonished. “Harry?”

_“You’re not even going to believe-”_

“You figured it out, then?” Zayn swears he hears laughter on the other end of the line, and that just makes everything even more confusing because okay, whatever Harry’s found can’t be all that great. Like, yeah, Liam could probably give Zayn the world and back, but Zayn’s usually only left with a couple of grand.

Well, yeah, that can buy a lot and more, but still.

 _“No wonder he didn’t say shit. You’re going to have to come down here,”_ Harry continues on with giddiness.

Zayn’s attention, however, is pulled away for a brief moment by the fact that the clock is ticking ever so slowly, letting him know that he’s going to have to get back out to the front of the store to finish up his shift. “Would you like to clue me in?” he tries to ask nicely. The impatience probably shines through despite his efforts, but now that Harry’s acting all awestruck, it’s only fair.

 _“No,”_ Harry suddenly says. _“No, Zayn. Like, you’re going to_ have _to come check this out.”_

Resisting the urge to lean his weight on one leg and pinch the bridge of his nose, Zayn does his best to refrain from demanding an answer. “Harry, it can’t be that great. C’mon.”

 _“You’ll see, Zayn,”_ the other lad says from down the line. _“I’ll come get you after work, yeah? Gonna have to see your face for this one.”_

With that, Harry hangs up, leaving Zayn to pull the phone away from his face just to stare at it. He probably did it from keeping Zayn from begging any further. It’s effective, especially as Zayn looks up at the clock again.

It’s time to get back to work.

+

Zayn’s currently standing in front of a building he’s not familiar with. It sits between two shops just on the edge of town, not to far away from his house (walking distance, that’s for sure) and his job.

Harry’s gleefully standing off to the side, a wide smile on his face that certainly hasn’t slipped off the moment the town car pulled up in front of the art store, with Harry rolling down his window with fascinated, overjoyed eyes. “This is amazing,” he’d said at the time. “I should definitely try meeting men.”

And while Zayn had snorted and told Harry to scoot over so he could get into the car (greeting the driver out of politeness and because Zayn’s noticed he’s the same man who’s chauffeured him around before, with Liam included on some occasions), he kept his mouth shut with his original thoughts. Those consisted of wanting to call Harry out on such a statement, especially considered the lad’s been infatuated with his twin sister ever since they were kids.

It wouldn’t have necessarily been a low blow, but Harry would’ve pouted, and Zayn’s already ready for the day to end.

“You’re going to _love_ it,” Harry’s commenting, taking a few steps ahead of Zayn before motioning him forward.

The car is nowhere in sight, Harry easily slipping into the role of bossy and comfortable as he’d instructed the driver to give them an hour, tops. Zayn hadn’t looked all that impressed, but maybe that had more to do with the fact that said driver was a paid employee of Liam’s, and it certainly wouldn’t do Zayn a lick of good if the other man went off and told Liam how Zayn might’ve been taking advantage (even though it’d be _Harry_ who’s to blame).

“Let’s get going, then,” Zayn says as pleasantly as he can. He can’t let his work screw this over for him, won’t let Harry’s incredibly good mood to rub him the wrong way either.

Harry leads them directly inside, and the first thing Zayn notices is that the front room is rather small and white. There’s nothing inside, no furniture, no pictures on the walls. It’s just a boring little room that holds no meaning, quite bare and emotionless.

And certainly not exciting.

But it’s as if Harry reads Zayn’s mind and quickly shakes his head, motioning for Zayn to continue following him as they go down a little corridor that opens up to a rather vast room.

Zayn takes it in little by little, piece by piece, not because it’s so huge that he has to train his eyes on one thing at a time, but because instead of the furniture and whatever else Zayn expects to be in here, can’t really be found.

Instead, Zayn finds that one wall is lined with a cabinet, the top of it covered with organizational drawers. As he approaches, since it’s the closest thing he’s next to, Zayn finds various bottles lined up neatly, stacks of paper, pens and pencils in drawers, paintbrushes held in nice pencil holders, keeping them propped up and ready for quick use and access.

And then Zayn spins on his heel and finds that another wall is lined with easels and empty paint canvases. There are only three blank white walls available while the fourth is made up of French doors that swing out and reveal a little garden sitting in the back. The noise of the city is very clear, and Zayn wonders how this little place even exists, but he’s looking around and taking it in, notices Harry in the corner of the room biting his lip and waiting for Zayn to speak up.

Too bad Harry’s not that patient. “Well?”

Zayn doesn’t think he can find the words yet, too confused about where he is and what the hell he’s even looking at. Yet, it’s clear. The items in the room give away too much and remind him of work back at the art store.

Except, when Zayn takes another look, he notices the quality of the items, is careful when picking up different utensils, and handles the paint with care because _fuck_. Zayn’s never been a true art student, but he’d like to believe he knows quality over cheap crap that’s best used for kids to play with. This stuff is quality, and Zayn knows he’s standing in a room full of money.

Money Liam spent on him. Money exchanged for art supplies that are quite superb.

Zayn’s standing in a little art studio, and he honestly has no clue what the fuck to even say, let alone think.

“You like it, right?” Harry’s voice is ringing through Zayn’s hears. “Who the fuck goes out of their way to rent a place like this?”

And that also gets Zayn’s attention because yeah, fuck. How in the world did that slip Zayn’s mind? Sure, the supplies might’ve cost a pretty penny and then some, but the space available didn’t just come out of nowhere, and when Zayn finally lets that sink in, all he can feel is his heart dropping into his stomach.

This shouldn’t be a bad thing, and to an extent, it’s not, but then again, Zayn hadn’t meant for something like this. All Zayn had expected were a few precious gifts, maybe a piece of jewelry here and there, something he could pawn off and get a couple hundred out of it. Or, he’d expected only the money, just a few bills in his hand to get him by for a while, enough to take care of rent, and Veronica, and his family back home - his parents, his younger sisters.

But this, well, Zayn’s not even sure what the hell he’s done to deserve something like this. Yes, him and Liam have had sex plenty of times, but he’s already been compensated for those pleasurable activities. Now, especially with this gift, all it does is make Zayn feel a little guilty, like now he owes Liam something, and that’s not really what he’d signed up for.

“Give me a minute, Harry,” Zayn ends up saying. He watches as Harry’s shoulders slump, his words clearly not what he’d been expecting.

But, Harry listens figuring it might be best to give Zayn a moment or two to himself, maybe let the shock sink in before a real reaction will replace it.

That’s not the case, however. Zayn shoves his hand into his pocket to grab his phone, and before he even has time to think about what he’s doing, Liam’s number has already been dialed. Zayn doesn’t know what time is at the moment, doesn’t know whether Liam’s already gotten off of work, or if he’s still there, doing what he does best. All Zayn knows is that Liam will pick up the bloody phone so that he doesn’t have to listen to that annoying ringing coming from down the other end of the line.

And of course, it’s true because not even ten seconds later, there’s a muffled, “Hello,” in Zayn’s ear.

“This was so unnecessary,” Zayn says immediately after, not giving Liam a chance to properly greet Zayn. “Can’t even _imagine_ the bill on this.”

As Zayn’s voice trails off, Liam’s there to pick up the next part of the conversation. “You’ve found it then?” He definitely ignores Zayn’s tone, the one set to the tune of startled. “Do you not like it?”

Zayn makes a wounded noise, hand cutting through the air even though Liam’s not there to see the motion. “That’s not it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Zayn mutters, and then he squeezes his eyes shut, hoping against hope that Liam hadn’t heard that clearly. Though, no comment comes from the other man, maybe distracted, or maybe Zayn had been quiet. Whatever the case, Zayn’s not going to push that. “Liam,” he sighs, eyes widening suddenly as he glances over the room. “It’s-” And he cuts himself off because how is he supposed to say anything at all without sounding ungrateful? Maybe he should’ve thought this through before hurriedly calling his unofficial boss. “It’s too much.”

“Is it?” Which, that should sound like a challenge, but Zayn knows that that’s not how Liam’s taking this. In fact, he doesn’t sound upset, more like disappointed, maybe? “You said-”

Zayn’s brows shoot up, close to his hairline if this were a cartoon, and he tries to think back on anything he’s said about this, an art studio. Nothing comes to mind, however.

“I didn’t expect this,” he adds, realizing how this is all possible. That one dinner they had, where Liam had prodded him about his potential future, his hobbies. And shit, Zayn knew he should’ve kept that stuff to himself. Sure, Liam had a right to know about school considering that’s where some of his money was going, but other than that, there wasn’t meant to be anything else between them, no personal lives, no calling each other pet names, no dating.

Part of Zayn feels elated, though. It’d be a lie if he said otherwise because honestly, he’s standing in an _art studio_. Like, something proper, and unique, and _his_ if he wishes. Yet, there’s also that reluctance ingrained within every part of his body, that ultimately Liam’s gone out of his way for someone like him.

Liam’s laugh echoes through the phone, strong and pleasant, and it pulls Zayn back to the conversation. “Yeah,” Liam’s telling him. “That’s why it’s a surprise.”

“Why this?” Zayn finds that his tone has gone soft, feet shuffling against the floor, hands clammy his heart swells with what he’d normally describe affection. He’s nervous and slightly anxious. It’s not that Liam doesn’t deserve some of that affection, but Zayn’s not here for that; they’re _both_ not here for that, and Zayn can’t give into that feeling. “It’s more than someone like me should ask for.”

What comes next is unexpected as Liam’s voice sharply comes through the phone with a quick, “No, I don’t think so.”

Zayn closes his eyes feeling Liam’s tone resonate through his bones, feeling like a scolded child.

“Don’t want you to say things like that,” Liam continues. “Not around me.” The other man then pauses briefly; some paper shuffles in the background, and Zayn then remembers that Liam must be at work.

And it’s absolutely hilarious how easily Zayn gets caught up with this, his emotions, his dignity. It’s not anything he pictured himself doing.

“I can’t make you accept it, Zayn.” And Liam brings his attention forward, helps him focus on the moment rather than trivial affairs. “But it’s a gift. I told you once I needed to find something for you, and I did.”

Despite knowing that Liam can’t see him, Zayn nods like the other man can. It helps him accept what’s going on, although really that might take awhile before it fully becomes normal. “I don’t know what to say other than thank you, and even then, I don’t think that’s good enough.” Zayn means it, he does. It’s just, the gratitude is hard to muster up with the constant thread of doubt lacing his mind.

“That’s just fine,” Liam says, and it sounds very much like he’s smiling. “You’re still welcome, regardless.”

Breathy laughter escapes Zayn’s throat, possibly with a tinge of thickness from getting a little too choked up. There’s always later for that, not during a phone call. “Keeping me on my toes. You’re doing very well.”

The click of Liam’s tongue is clear through the line, like he mildly disapproves of what’s supposed to be a compliment. “I beg to differ, Zayn Malik,” Liam replies. “Pretty sure that’s all on you.”

And if a smattering of a pink hue dances its way across Zayn’s cheeks, well, he’s only so lucky that Liam’s not around to notice. Harry will, most likely, when he’s bored of eavesdropping and wants to draw the attention back to himself because he’s bored.

“Funny,” is the only thing Zayn can say, and he knows the time on the phone is dwindling down, nothing left to say, and Liam probably needing to get back. “Guess I’m going to have to show you how much this means to me at some point.”

Liam hums before saying, “That wasn’t my intention, I’ll have you know.”

And Zayn’s pretty sure that’s the case, but still. There might not be a debt that needs to be paid, but Zayn will know when that feeling is finally gone, when he’s finally settled that for himself.

“But I can’t say I’m not looking forward to it.”

Zayn laughs, and it’s the first time he’s done so today. There’s something positive, a newfound feeling in his chest. It feels good to be happy for once. Him being in good spirits has only been a recently developed event, and Zayn can say he’s honestly surprised. “Til then.”

Once again, Liam hums, and it’s only that, but it feels like a pause rather than approval. And so, just as Zayn’s about to go, Zayn’s sure he’s heard his name called. It only takes him a moment to realize it’s Liam wanting to keep him on the line. For how much longer, he isn’t aware of that, but he swallows just in case, and answers with, “Yes?”

“You’ll tell me if something like that happens again, won’t you?”

During the question, that’s when Zayn notices Harry carefully walk his way back into the room. He’s got an eyebrow raised and a look on his face that clearly reads Zayn needs to hurry it up because he’s being rude by not entertaining the guest.

But the thing is, Zayn doesn’t know what Liam’s talking about, and the only natural reply to that is, “I guess? Not familiar with-”

“The work party, Zayn,” Liam says quickly, like he’s wanting Zayn to remember.

And he does, but nothing is ringing any bells yet. “I still-”

“Louis told me what happened.”

It’s a slow crawl of a feeling; it ducks down into his belly before traveling up his spine, and for a moment, Zayn feels like he can’t breathe. No, Louis and him hadn’t made any kind of an agreement to keep what happened between themselves. Maybe Zayn shouldn’t’ve assumed when Louis had kept his mouth shut and hadn’t said a word of what happened to Liam.

And maybe Zayn should’ve known that Louis was that kind of person.

Still, Zayn wants to blame him, to be upset at the man he’s only met once for going on about something that truly hadn’t concerned him. But as he stands there and thinks about it, it makes sense because Liam is Louis’ friend and business partner. Louis might’ve been (and still could be) wary of Zayn, he’d gone out of his way to fend for Zayn, to let Liam know so that something could be done.

Well, something _would_ be done about it, Zayn’s positive, if Liam had found out sooner.

“It was a silly little conversation from some random guy, Liam,” Zayn tries to say, doesn’t want to draw attention to it any more. “Probably drunk, and I was by myself-”

“If you think that gave him the right-” Liam cut himself off then, and Zayn can picture Liam standing in front of his desk with a pinched expression, so serious and exuding a big presence. “You’re more than an object, Zayn,” the other man ends up saying, which only causes Zayn to lose his breath for a moment. “Won’t stop you from taking his offer if that’s what you really want, but you’re none of those things he made you feel like.”

Zayn bites his tongue and tries to think of something to say in return, but nothing makes sense, nothing seems to express exactly what he’s feeling. And maybe Liam senses that because he doesn’t push for an answer, but Zayn feels like he owes him something regardless. Liam going out of his way like this for him is unbelievable and probably unacceptable. Zayn can’t help it the way he’s treated, and for Liam to apologize isn’t fair because he’s not the one that’s done anything wrong.

Zayn realizes that he doesn’t want this to be an apology, not from Liam, at least. He has doubts that he’s going to receive one elsewhere, and Zayn knows better than to make things more difficult than they are. “I’ll let you get back to what you were doing, then,” he says. Surely his face has fallen, and Zayn only knows this by the way Harry’s looking at him oddly. “Have a good day.” It’s avoidance at its finest, and while Liam must know that, he certainly doesn’t let on, actually tells Zayn goodbye, too, before they’re off the phone, Zayn pocketing the device and definitely wanting to avoid the various questions from his dear friend.

“Going from one mood to another so quickly doesn’t look good on you, Malik.”

He resists the urge to give Harry the finger, but he musters up a smile nonetheless. “You’re not getting anything out of me, yet.” Instead, Zayn actually decides to go through some of the drawers, picking out various things and setting them on the counter while Harry shuffles closer to see what he’s doing.

“So, you’re going to keep it, then?”

Zayn glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Dunno. Don’t think Liam’s ever gonna change his mind about this; might as well put it to some use while the key still works.” He shrugs and then motions for Harry to pick up some of the paint he’s chosen. He leaves the brushes where they are, picks out a blank canvas and decides that, hell, he’s off work and Liam’s given him an outlet. Harry’s given him some space (for the moment, at least), and Zayn has some built up frustration.

So, call him selfish, but for once Zayn’s not going to feel guilty about this one. He’s going to take a moment and breathe in paint fumes, open a window to help with the smell, get himself a little messy in the process and tries to expel his frustrations onto the canvas.

Zayn’s never really been an artist, but hell, at least someone’s giving him the opportunity to act like one.

+

Zayn feels like that might be luck, or it just might be mistaken because anytime his world has been put on hold, all it means is more patience from him, forgiveness from screwing up somewhere in his life, and hope that maybe the interlude between the coming and going won’t be as detrimental.

This time, Zayn sits with his mother in some lavish doctor’s office. His father’s at work, couldn’t get off to take his wife to her appointment, and Veronica had been so inclined to stay at home to watch their younger sisters.

So, Zayn waits, his life on a grand pause because more tests will be run with the hope that there will be an answer to his mother’s illness. She gets better sometimes, worse on other days. Zayn dreads the day they walk out of a place like this with test results that tell him that the one who gave life to him might not live much longer.

She’s told him it’s a possibility, but Zayn knows how she is-- knows how much his momma lies to keep him and his sister’s sane. It’s out of the goodness of her heart, the mere thought of disappointing her children more of a burden, than handing all of her worries over to them. Zayn wishes he could give more, especially as he watches her. She’s flipping through a magazine, seems so bright and healthy, and he knows it’s because she’s been taking better care of herself with the money Zayn had given Veronica.

There’s more food to eat, better quality, too. Zayn knows she’s been up in the kitchen making some of her favorite dishes, getting back into the routine of things. It’s a touch and go type of situation, and sometimes Zayn wonders how this could happen to a woman like her, to _his_ mother, but there are no answers, and he knows that there won’t ever be one, not to the particular questions he has.

The thing is, she looks healthy as can be, her makeup done, her clothes impeccable. Zayn tries hard not to get lost in his thoughts, not while she’s sitting beside him because all she’ll do is scold him, pat his knee and tell him to quit worrying about her so damn much.

But he can’t because she’s his mother, and he loves her dearly. His life might be different now, half luxury, half rags, trying to make ends meet, yet accepting the influx of wealth that Liam decides to share with him. It often makes him wonder what kind of world it would be if he had to give her up, too. Though, Zayn knows he’d gladly take the absence of school for the rest of his life, the job he has now, and anything in between just to have an extra moment, to have more time with one of his parents. His father’s life is not yet hanging in the balance, but that still doesn’t mean it’s not a thought worth thinking about. It’s a harsh reality, and it’s one that Zayn hadn’t figured he’d be facing now anyway.

Zayn knows it’s nature that death will come knocking when it’s time, but Zayn can’t help but feel selfish, hates that he leads himself to these thoughts time and time again.

His mother’s name is called somewhere in the distance, and she leaves him in the waiting room because even if he could go back there, Zayn knows that his mother would tell him to stay, would want to keep him from his worries forever if she could. It’s what mums do, and Zayn can’t fault her for that.

As he waits, he busies himself with mindless thoughts, flicks through old magazines and watches as patients come and go, their names called before they're disappearing behind a wooden door. He people-watches, tries to be discreet so that they don't know he finds them fascinating, people with their own lives and stories.

And then he feels the vibration of his phone in his pocket, and Zayn sees that as a sign from above, a way to ease his worry and help him get through today before he has to head back home for another shift at work tomorrow.

Quickly as he can, Zayn exits the little building, standing out on the pavement while he answers without looking at the caller id. “Hello?”

At first he thinks it might be Veronica, maybe even Harry who’s calling because his boss knows that today is not only an off day, and there’s no way he’d be able to come in and fill any shifts. But then that warm voice fills his ear, and Zayn doesn’t know whether to relax or place himself on guard.

“I hope you’re not too terribly busy.”

Zayn glances back towards the building he just exited and hesitates to answer that. One the one hand he is; Zayn’s busy with family, yes, but on the other, not particularly. He’ll have to leave within a few hours, travel back to his flat with Veronica because as much as he loves his flesh and blood, he’s got a life (or lack thereof) to get back to.

However, there’s no time in between Liam’s words before he’s speaking again, and while Zayn’s grateful for that for a split second, he realizes (and should’ve known) the reason for Liam’s call. “I’d like to see you.”

“Well,” he drawls, not wanting to disappoint the other man. The agreement they made is still fresh in his mind, and Zayn’s not sure how to wiggle himself out of this. He can’t very well tell Liam what’s going on. For one, it’s none of his business, and it’s not like he’d even asked for details of Zayn’s life (except for the basics, of course, because Liam had wanted to make sure his money wasn’t necessarily wasted). And two, broken promises are never a good sign, and Zayn curses himself for not mentioning a trip out of town, so to speak, just to keep these kinds of calls from happening. “It’d have to wait til later I’m afraid.”

“You never indicated you were busy.”

“And you didn’t give me a chance to answer,” Zayn snaps, and then he bites his tongue because that is definitely not the way he should be acting towards Liam, at all. So, he pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes off his pride, slumps his shoulders and says, “I’m sorry. Just been a little rough, that’s all.”

It’s silent on the other end of the line, and Zayn thinks that maybe Liam’s hung up on him until he hears a throat being cleared and Liam speaks up. “You want to tell me what’s so important, then? Especially if it’s keeping you away from business.”

Which, that makes it sound so formal. It’s not, though. At least, it isn’t when they’re together, but it brings Zayn back to their conversation they had the other day, the implication Liam laid upon him that clearly stated he wasn’t some kind of whore. He appreciated that then but he isn’t sure how he feels about the blasé tone now. “It’s just a day thing,” he explains, scuffing his foot on the pavement. There’s no one around except for the cars that passing by the clinic, and Zayn wonders what he look by to them, if they even notice him at all. “Should’ve probably mentioned it, but I didn’t think-”

“I see,” Liam says, sounding none too pleased.

But Zayn doesn’t know what to do to make up for it. He can’t give away his location, not out of fear, but out of principle. Bothering Liam with part of his life had already been enough, and showcasing this side of it so Liam could further understand his situation would sound a lot more desperate. Zayn hadn’t gotten into this just to become some clingy, self-serving boy toy, but to help himself and his family in exchange for a little fun that a man like Liam shouldn’t even have trouble finding in the first place.

“Don’t be upset,” Zayn says, already feeling the guilt tugging. Of course they’d made no mention if things like this came up, but it did, and Zayn’s at fault, and he’s not going to give himself away for anything. “I can-” And he pauses just to breathe, running a hand through his hair just to busy his hand. “I can make it up to you tonight, yeah? As soon as I’m finished, we can meet, or I can come by-”

But apparently Liam’s having none of that, either burned or now disinterested with Zayn’s excuses. “You’re busy,” Liam says coarsely. “Wouldn’t want to pull you away from that.”

“Liam-” Zayn tries, but then not only does the other man cut Zayn short, but he hears a door open to his left, and when Zayn turns, he finds that his mother is exiting the building. She looks like herself, no lingering sadness, or a smile that gives Zayn a hint as to what went down. There’s also a good chance his mother’s going to give him a straight answer, not until she thinks she has definite news.

“You’re not the only number, Zayn,” Liam’s finishing. “Don’t worry yourself over it.”

Zayn sucks in a sharp breath, and it kind of feels like all the air’s been knocked out of his body. Although, for what? Because Liam’s now off the phone, leaving Zayn to stare at the beeping end call message, or the fact that Liam had easily cast him aside when he learned that Zayn couldn’t meet his expectations. Cold and crass had he been, and Zayn hopes to god that it’d been because he’d been having a bad day.

Whether this means anything in terms of their future, he doesn’t know, and it’s not like he’s going to be able to figure it out either because Zayn’s mother is walking over to him once she spots him.

“Everything all right?” she asks, looking at him curiously.

Zayn gathers his composure as best as he can and presses a smile across his lips. “It’s fine,” he tells her because he’s got to lie just like she’s done for him, to keep the people she loves safe and well.

And well, Zayn hopes he’s never in the mind to actually let his parents know of his proceedings. Not only does that make for an awkward conversation but that would probably strike as a low blow.

“Yes,” he replies again when she gives him a disbelieving look. Zayn’s never really been all that good of a liar, especially when it comes to lying to his mother.

But she gives him the benefit of the doubt as they head back to the car (although Zayn wouldn’t put it past her to question him on it later). However, she does continue to look at him oddly, probably wondering why in the world Zayn’s quiet considering the fact that he’d been pressing for answers on the drive over here. Yet he just continues to smile, gets in the car and passes off his worrying, overly anxious mood as just being happy to see his mother again.

And if she doesn’t bring it up herself, and if they pull up to the house and are greeted by two very rambunctious little girls who’re excited to see Zayn after quite some time, well, Zayn’s just going to be content with that.

+

Just as expected, Zayn gets back to what he does best, but he also knows that he goes two weeks without speaking a word to Liam. Not because he’s dead set on keeping his distance, but part of him is scared to try anything. Whether there’s something to resolve, Zayn’s not sure, and whatever is going on is leaving him hanging in the balance.

Then again, that might be an exaggeration because yeah, two weeks end up being nothing in comparison to the day that Zayn knows he won’t be forgetting for as long as he lives.

+

Veronica’s in the doorway of his room at nine o’clock at night, and despite Zayn having just tucked himself in, he knows it’s best not to ignore his sister.

Especially when he can hear her sniffling in the doorway.

“What’s wrong?” he calls softly from the bed, moves his arm from underneath the warmth of his blankets so he can wave her over. Veronica immediately follows the gesture, tucking herself under Zayn’s comforter before making herself comfortable.

From what little he can see, Zayn makes out her wet eyes, filled with tears that have since fallen and will fall within a couple of seconds because as much as Zayn knows she’s strong and likes to maintain her tough exterior, he recognizes the fact that she has certain buttons. Very little affects Veronica when it comes to her emotions, and it’s not because she’s distinctly cold, but she’s grown up with so many burdens, and the outcome of it all had been her thick skin.

“What’s wrong?” he asks because he knows that if he doesn’t, she’s not going to say anything.

She bites her lip, hand carefully resting against the pillow and laying just beneath her cheek. Veronica looks ever dithering, like she might be regretting her decision to come to Zayn about something, but he waits for her, lets her take her time because when Veronica’s like this, Zayn knows she’s not going to last long by herself. It’s a good thing she came to Zayn, otherwise she’d be alone in the apartment until Harry trudged through the door during a late night of work.

“I don’t want to worry you,” Veronica eventually says. She blinks, and Zayn knows she’s trying to get rid of her tears, any evidence that she’d been upset despite the fact that their conversation has only just begun.

Zayn snorts, doesn’t mean to, but it’s not like Veronica isn’t already worrying him as it is. “Too late for that.”

“They want to switch her medications.”

His brow creases, suddenly thrown off by Veronica being so forthcoming. “What?”

Turning over onto her back, Veronica’s hair is swept across the pillow, might even become knotted if she’s not careful. It’s grown long and frames her face when she’s standing, a dark brown, nearly black color that contrasts with her cheekbones. However, her features are obscured in this lighting, save for the outline of her nose and the way her eyelashes cast shadows against the top of her cheeks while she stares at the ceiling. “She’s been having a few more flares lately. You know it’s always been off and on.”

Which, yeah, Zayn knew that; his mother’s symptoms had always been touch and go, and while they’d been defined with a label (“autoimmune disease, Zayn”), it hadn’t made things all too easy. He remembers his mother from years past, when she was younger and less viable to straining herself and her body, but now with years past, from taking care of her kids, to working and because she’s human, it’s taken a toll and not in a good way. “Is this going to do any good?”

Veronica shrugs. “Dunno,” she replies. “Previous medicine had been working until recently; it’s like her body isn’t responding to it anymore.”

“She swore she was taking care of herself,” Zayn says, swallowing the thickness in his throat. He’d noticed her trouble the other day when she’d gone into the doctor, as if something was bothering her. Zayn had only asked once, but that was enough because his mother shut him down after that, told him not to worry as she changed the subject and moved on with the conversation. “Better than she had been a few weeks ago-”

“Zayn,” Veronica cuts him off scornfully. “You know that’s not how it works.”

He clicks his tongue and finds bitterness in his heart, not just for the situation but briefly towards Veronica. “I’m aware of that,” he defends himself. “It doesn’t mean I still can’t wonder. I thought she’d steadily been getting better.”

Zayn watches as Veronica’s eyes flutter shut, her arm coming to rest across them as if to block out a piece of the world, probably her wondering why she can’t just fall asleep. “She also asked about the money.”

He sucks in a breath then, a statement he hadn’t yet been prepared for simply because he had hoped that Veronica would pass it off as extra savings. And still, she might’ve done as he’d asked, but that didn’t mean his mother wouldn’t question it, especially when she’s so used to the same type of income from them both month after month. “What’d you tell her?”

“Tried to lie,” Veronica says. “Got baba involved, too, because she knew I was lying.”

Surely the clench in his jaw is noticeable, but it’s not like Veronica’s paying any attention. In fact, aside from her earlier tears, it doesn’t seem as if she’s too upset about any of this. “If that’s the case, then what’d you do?” he says, voice low.

“Told her I got it from you.”

Zayn resists the urge to sit up and push away Veronica’s arm, demand her to tell him what the hell she’d been thinking with that. And honestly, it might not be that big of a deal if their mother knew the truth, but he hadn’t wanted her to call, hadn’t wanted to deal with her questions, either. “I’m not going to get a call from her, am I?”

Veronica shrugs again. “Dunno,” she says. “Don’t think she was even planning on telling us about what was going on, not until baba called to check up on us and-”

“You asked him because you knew he’d tell you,” Zayn finishes with a roll of his eyes. He feels slightly sleepy now that he’s been laying in his bed for quite some time, but he knows it’s only a feeling and that even after all of this, he’ll most likely lie in bed awake for a little while longer, after Veronica’s gone and left him with his thoughts. “You were always his favourite anyway.”

Veronica uncovers her face and stares at him until he gets the point that she’s not happy with that comment. “Look,” Veronica starts. “I didn’t come in here to upset you, but-” And as she pauses, she turns to her side again, looking rather child-like and from a time when the both of them were younger, both of them keeping each other company in case any monsters lurked in the closet, keeping each other safe during thunderstorms that might blow them away. It reminds Zayn of a simpler time, one that happened not that long ago, yet it does feel like a lifetime. Things were easier then, being young and careless without having to worry about the dangers of life, that things weren’t so ideal.

Veronica now looks reluctant to go on, and Zayn studies her as a myriad of emotions flicker across her face. He’d like her to get to the point of it all, but pushing her would further the mild temper she already has, and it makes sense to wait until she’s ready, until she can muster up the final words she’ll say before leaving Zayn here alone.

Because that’s what it feels like, at least. Zayn figured they were past the bad and onto the relatively good, but it seems like they’ve only touched the tip of the iceberg.

“She might get better like she does, have a remission where everything’s okay again,” Veronica goes on to say. “But with it showing up frequently, they’re a little nervous, Zayn.”

And he’s no stranger to what’s going on, what’s plaguing his mother’s body, but Veronica isn’t making any of this easier by drawing out the real intent of why she’s here. Zayn has a feeling he’s not going to like it, and the dread builds up in his body with each second that passes. “For what, exactly?”

Again, Veronica hesitates, but she doesn’t put it off any longer. “They’re not saying it’s completely detrimental, but mum’s health is deteriorating.”

Zayn gives a stiff nod, moving his head against his pillow like he understands Veronica’s words, and he does, to an extent. But there’s more, and Zayn’s going to wait to say anything at all until Veronica’s finished.

“Like,” and she swallows, so visibly like she’s getting choked up again, and that puts Zayn on edge, makes him curl his fingers around his blankets, into a fist just to he can pull himself back down to reality, back to this instead of his thoughts and dreams where everything is much better. “They’re predicting it to get bad real soon, increases in inflammation; apparently she’s felt real awful lately-”

“Veronica,” Zayn says sharply.

“There’s no strict answer,” Veronica continues, finally getting to the point. “There’s no way of knowing what’s going to happen until we get to that point.”

Again, Zayn nods, but he feels a particular question form, and it’s not one he likes, not one he hasn’t thought about before given the fact that regardless, it’d become a reality someday. Zayn just hadn’t thought it’d be sooner rather than later, and he’s hoping that maybe that’s not going to be the case now. “Is she going to die?”

Even Veronica isn’t expecting such a question, and she pulls back quickly enough before Zayn catches her wrist and stares at her in the dark. His vision is already accustomed to the inkiness of the room as it should be for Veronica, too, and it breaks his heart to see Veronica with a frown upon her face, her features uncertain like the answer to the question is not something she truly wants to speak. There are life to words and putting them out in the open like that is certainly not something either of them want; it might haunt either of them, the rest of Zayn’s family, too, but it’s necessary, and Zayn continuing his hold on Veronica ensures that she stays and faces the same emotion that is bound to crawl across Zayn’s heart.

“Most likely not,” Veronica answers, but she doesn’t sound confident in what she’s saying. “It’s up in the air at this point.”

Eventually, Veronica pulls away from Zayn but remains on the bed, curled up on her side with her eyes now closed. She’ll probably fall asleep here, and Zayn would normally be the first to wake her up without moving her, but time ticks slowly, and he watches her form in the dark as her chest falls up and down, with her hand tucked under her chin and her hair a mess across his pillows. Her guard isn’t up, and Zayn wonders how he looks when he’s asleep, and it’s easier to think of simple thoughts instead of the echoing words Veronica had given him before she fell into an easy slumber.

And part of Zayn should probably be mad at his sister for quickly falling asleep at a time like this, but it occurs to him then that maybe she’d cried enough to drain her, that her senses weakened - not just because of the time, but because she’s released her emotions and has nothing else to give.

Now, however, is Zayn’s turn, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His thoughts are a mess, and surely he sits in the dark for quite some time until he feels the keys in the lock and Harry pushing through the door. Zayn wonders what he knows, if Veronica had called him at all, but she might’ve been kind enough to wait, to tell her brother first before anything else.

And with that, Zayn makes up his mind, a split, quick decision on his part because it feels better than staying here in a room he doesn’t want to be in, with a sister he’s fond of but also blames for bringing out his misery at this time of night when he’d rather be fast asleep in his bed than thinking of things like the planning of a potential funeral.

He’d like to believe that they’d be so lucky, that his mother will eventually come back into good health, but anxiety is a crazy thing, and the more he thinks about it, the more Zayn knows he needs to shake off his nerves. So, rather than sit here any longer, Zayn climbs out of bed, finds a random hoodie to slip over his shirt, grab some shoes, his wallet, and then he’s heading towards the door, narrowly misses Harry as he retreats into his room. His friend spares him a glance, with a question in his eye as Zayn pulls open the door, can already feel the cool breeze of the night. Maybe he’ll go buy himself a new pack of cigs, keep himself occupied while taking a walk.

“Dunno when I’ll be back,” he says, and Harry’s eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t push it. “Veronica fell asleep in my bed, and if she wakes up, don’t tell her I’ve left.”

Disapproval is the only thing written on Harry’s face now, but Zayn’s gotten used to it, so he doesn’t dare try to reevaluate his decisions because everything seems like such a whirlwind, it’d be so much easier to ignore this, too. So, Zayn does, walks outside into the night, not knowing where he’s going, most likely just staying close to their complex, have a smoke or two before coming back in and settling under the sheets for some much needed sleep.

What he actually ends up doing, however, is a last minute effort to make everything better.

+

Standing in front of the door isn’t going to get him anywhere. In fact, since he’d called and asked if he could drop by, it makes much more sense for Zayn to knock and follow through with why he’d asked to come over in the first place. He’d tried to smoke a cigarette, tried walking around the block and back just to keep the cool of the air out of his bones, but he’d still been haunted.

Grabbing his phone had been the easy part, so had pressing the name in his contacts list, even answering the sleepy _hello_ on the other end had been quite simple, too. But this isn’t, and Zayn feels like he should walk away now. He has the opportunity to do so, to figure this out at another time, but his hands shake even though they’re stuffed into his coat pocket, and his mind feels a bit fuzzy with Veronica’s words echoing within the distance. All Zayn wants is for her words to go away, wants her voice to leave him alone for a little bit while he gets a grip on himself.

And in the heat of the moment, Zayn knew that there was one thing he could do to make it all better. He hadn’t talked to Liam in nearly two weeks, and although Zayn figured he’d severed his ties, that maybe his screw up all those days ago was enough to turn Liam away, he’d still sent a car out for Zayn, hadn’t told him anything other than that despite Zayn begging if he could come over.

Eventually, Zayn finds the courage to knock. He’s still dressed in what he was going to sleep in: his tracksuit bottoms, his hoodie and t-shirt, hair probably wild and a mess from the breeze of the night. He wouldn’t even be surprised if his nose and cheeks were red, eyes a little glassy from having to deal with the chill.

The door opens a few seconds later, Liam standing before Zayn in nothing but tracksuit bottoms that hang low on his hips. He looks a little sleepy, and Zayn knows from their previous phone call that he’d woken the man up. He doesn’t look angry, however; rather, Liam opens the door wider, stepping aside to let Zayn in. The silence is louder than anything else that might’ve occurred between them; though Liam doesn’t question Zayn, and Zayn doesn’t do much either until Liam’s shuffling past him to head into the kitchen.

Zayn’s not familiar with the layout of the house, just knows the foyer area, and the hall because of the last time he was here. Other than that, the place feels distant, not necessarily cold, but different.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Liam offers, startling Zayn.

He shakes his head and curls his arms around the front of his stomach; his decision in asking Liam if he could come over weighing heavily on his mind now that he’s here. “Should probably leave.”

Liam doesn’t make a comment, not at Zayn’s request, or how all of this was a waste of time, that Liam could’ve stayed in bed and saved the drama for another day. Instead, Liam grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, handing it off to Zayn until he takes it, doesn’t bother opening the damn thing until he feels the cold seep through the palm of his hand. It’s incentive, really, to move; he spurs into action, quickly placing the water on the counter before moving closer to Liam. There’s no permission, and a definite lack of subtly that takes place, but Zayn shuffles forward because he feels it might be best to attract an anchor in a time where he feels like he’s drowning.

The older man catches him, though, right as Zayn stumbles across the gray tiles that make up the floor. Steady hands encircle Zayn’s waist, keep him upright as he gains his balance, and his senses, regardless of how overwhelming they are. The heavy mark of silence continues to ensue, quite palpable despite the fact that Zayn can practically hear his heart beating wildly in his chest. It’s not plausible that Liam would hear the rhythmic commotion or the rush of blood in Zayn’s ears, but there’s a curious eye turned Zayn’s way, and Zayn’s left to confront that. “You said-” he starts, simple hands curling into fists against Liam’s bare chest. He’d push away if he were a smarter man, and maybe Zayn would take precaution before getting in too deep, but he stares at the coarse hair dotting tanned skin, blatantly ignores the brown eyes that are set upon his features, just waiting for some kind of explanation.

But Zayn doesn’t have one, at least not one he’s willing to give Liam because the reason he’s here doesn’t concern a man of his stature. Though, what does is the fact that Zayn wants him, and he promised; they made a deal, and even if Zayn’s asking for too much after their unseemly agreement, it won’t hurt to try again. “We made a deal-”

Yet, Zayn doesn’t get to finish because there’s a finger under his chin, pulling his gaze along the expanse of Liam’s wide shoulders, his neck, and up to his face. Their eyes meet, and in that instance, there’s absolute certainty in Liam’s eyes. Whether it’s relief that Zayn feels because he doesn’t have to further explain himself, he doesn’t know, but it’s something akin to cold water and a stiff spine that keeps him in place.

“Gave you the opportunity before, yet you declined.”

The bite is sharp, and Zayn flinches because of course Liam would throw something like that back in his face. He has no reason not to, and even if Zayn’s hyped Liam up in his mind and all his gentlemanly ways, it seems he’s slacked off on the effort of affording Liam the title asshole.

The grip on his chin is not daring nor is it harsh, and Zayn knows he could break away from Liam’s grasp easily enough; he stays, however. He feels like that might be an important factor into the next few moments, a future he’s quite uncertain of. “Something came up,” is his only explanation because Zayn refuses to be part of a sob story. It’s unbecoming, at least in the presence of someone who holds no bearing on that part of his life except for flow of cash that reaches their hands. “Wasn’t on purpose.”

But he doesn’t apologize, and maybe that’s a stupid mistake, but Zayn doesn’t feel in the wrong for that. Even as he squares his shoulders and sets his jaw into a straight line, he hopes he conveys that message.

It seems that way to a certain extent, but the reaction from Liam to Zayn’s initial reply, goes beyond what he expected. It’s nothing tremendously bad either; it’s more the fact that something in Liam’s eyes soften as he continues his study of Zayn. Like a switch flipped, Liam’s body rids of extra tension, the planes of his face smoothing over with definite concentration and more empathy Zayn’s never seen Liam muster up before.

He’s human, after all, but even then, there are some who manage to gain intolerance for basic human decency. It seems that Liam’s more stubborn than cruel, and Zayn’s not sure what to make of any of it. It’s much more of a reply than it is a concentration of keeping up petty resentment. “Never called anyone else,” is the next revelation that occurs, one that makes Zayn stomach twist in undefined knots, a roll of butterflies he can’t explain. “Petty threats, and you’ll have to forgive me for insolent behavior.”

Again, Zayn doesn’t know whether to trust his ears or not. It’s not as if Liam truly owes him anything. Sure, might’ve been regarded as less than stellar behavior, but then again, Zayn broke their deal, no matter the principle of being a decent human being. “You don’t have to apologize,” he says because even if Zayn doesn’t think too highly of himself, this isn’t out of needing to be humble. “I understand our situation.”

Really, it’s the easiest thing he can offer.

But the corners of Liam’s lip tighten, the pinch in his brow an indication that he finds fault with Zayn’s words and then some. “No excuses,” he pounces before Zayn can protest. “It crossed a line, something I shouldn’t’ve overstepped.”

Without leaving the apology hanging in the air, Zayn quickly nods his acceptance, masking his bewilderment with receiving such regrets. Tonight hadn’t been about seeking forgiveness as much as it’d been about finding solace, and he hates to say he’ll take what he can get, but it seems like the thing to do. He ducks his head and skims his fingers across the expanse of Liam’s chest, beats down a smile when skin ridges and waves of goosebumps explode underneath his touch.

“I don’t mean to impose, figured you wouldn’t want to see me again after.”

Such a low laugh emits deep from within Liam, the rumble of it felt against the palm of Zayn’s hand. It has him turning his gaze upwards again, cautious but clear, only to find a careful but relaxed smile upon Liam’s lips. “I’d like to believe you being here now says how much I feel about that. Think that’s what matters, yeah?”

Again, Zayn confirms Liam’s question with a silent nod, though he suspects that really, they both know that Zayn’s not here for just _any_ given reason. Liam doesn’t necessarily let onto that, but his grip on Zayn’s waist hasn’t loosened, and Zayn hasn’t really given any indication as to why he showed up in the middle of the night.

If anything, it’s crystal clear what this looks like, and Zayn thinks he finds some relief within that, that a late night call could be so easy, that its implications have been spelled out without him doing any of the talking. It’s good because it’s what he wanted, but Zayn’s never been that blatant in regards to taking.

Masking the blush on his cheeks is an easy thing to do when they’re practically standing in the dark, the only source of light coming from the microwave, the bulb shining just over the stove. The moon flushes through the window in width and color, highlighting the outskirts of a clean kitchen. Shadows are cast, and blue is tinted amongst the area, but at least it doesn’t feel cold anymore, no wind in Zayn’s face, no digging his hands further into his jacket. The experience of what’s outside is before him, the layout mapping a different kind of direction he ended up taking. One for the better, he presumes, but potentially ending up in Liam’s bed might read more of a disaster with selfish desires at play and a lustful need to rid of any problems of the mind and body.

What better way to find comfort? In the arms of a man Zayn knows better than to get close to.

So whether he’s just plain stupid or rather determined, is a question Zayn doesn’t ask himself. It’s the startling need, or maybe something else, that grips him tight and reawakens a drive within Zayn he’s had since the beginning of the proposal set. That feeling sets him in motion, Zayn standing on the tips of his toes so he can capture Liam’s mouth in a rushed kind of kiss. It’s completely off balance, and there are fingers digging into his sides, but the grip loosens the moment Zayn is stead. It’s overly eager, is the thing, and Zayn clings to Liam as if he might force them away from one another, Liam urging him to keep a relatively safe distance.

But then there’s a hand sliding into the thick of Zayn’s dark hair, fingers brushing against the roots before they’re curling and tugging his head back. It’s gentle, never a fuss when it comes to Liam, but the message is clear when Zayn takes notice that he’s the center of attention. His lips must look shiny, maybe even a little more plump with the red hue of being used because Liam’s gaze flickers back and forth, from lips to eyes, to the bridge of his nose, and lastly, his cheeks. He’s not painting a picture, the source of wonderment easily spotted as Zayn stands still and waits for Liam to make the next move. He hasn’t turned Zayn away, and he reads that as a success.

The back of his head is suddenly cradled, the width of Liam’s palm buried within brown, nearly black locks. Zayn can feel Liam’s thumb just at the base of his ear, petting away at smooth skin, a lingering touch despite the fact that Zayn senses Liam everywhere anyway. After that, Liam’s still careful with Zayn, but he does lean in and press their lips together, soft, pink lips on Zayn’s that cover his quite nicely. It brings a sense of warmth down Zayn’s back and throughout his limbs, head tilted with hardly any material across Liam’s upper body for him to grab onto.

Liam leaves Zayn breathless and reaching for more, but Liam only allows that tenderness to extend to other areas of Zayn’s face: his chin, his cheek, the highest point of his temple. His brow furrows in confusion at quite an intimate act, but Zayn’s not complaining when he feels Liam sliding a hand under his shirt. Again, there’s that new sense of warmth, much welcome in every regard before Zayn suddenly finds himself speaking. “More, Liam,” he requests, but it’s absolutely vague, and Liam hums in response, in need of words rather than dialogue that will get them nowhere. “Want you, _please_.”

Liam remains close, of course he does, and Zayn closes his eyes as his cheek makes contact with Liam’s shoulder. He’s careful with invading space that’s not his own, but he partially finds that Liam’s dragged him there, more or less. It’s the acceptance of his lackluster request, really, the full flush of his body against the other man’s. It’s not entirely what Zayn had gone for, but it does lead to incentive and the ability for Zayn to mouth at Liam, particularly at the dip of his collarbone, where bones align and the neck meets. It’s careful kisses and a nose that nuzzles that brings Zayn back to a sharp awareness of where he is, who he’s with, and why exactly he’s standing here at all.

He’d meant to get away, right. Meant to take matters into his own hands and do something better than listen to a chaotic, rhythmic noise of emotions. “Wanna feel you, Liam,” he affirms with a whisper, correcting himself. “ _Please,_ make me feel.”

Like a careful thought, or a dangerous secret, Zayn leaves that out in the open, such an air of vulnerability he hasn’t touched upon in quite some time. Liam’s opened him up to strategically placed experiences, the stop and go of their relationship leaving room for things to be explored. But insofar, Liam’s given Zayn everything he’s asked for and more, and while his request is self-centered, there’s a confidence there that resounds well within his heart, that if Zayn asked, Liam would follow through, more out of obligation than detrimental feelings.

But then again, that’s still a plausible, acceptable excuse, and one that works quite well in the end.

He doesn’t mean to grow impatient, or maybe he’s just tired of seconds ticking by without Liam’s approval for anything more, so Zayn tries impulse and incitement, dancing fingers down Liam’s side, gently brushing through his happy trail all the while being cautious in case it’s too much of a push. Though, Zayn goes further and tests his luck, thumb wiggling between flesh and the waistband of Liam’s trackies.

However, that’s as far as it goes because just as Zayn tries to go further, his wrist is caught within Liam’s hand. The hold is snug, not enough to cause any kind of pain, before Liam’s dragging Zayn’s knuckles against his lips, the taint of a smirk left behind to poke fun at Zayn’s eagerness. “You shouldn’t be doing something you’re going to regret.”

Though he snorts, the corner of his lip turning downwards. “M’asking,” he retorts. “Don’t think that sounds like remorse to me.”

A gleam in Liam’s eye is quickly replaced by a cocked eyebrow. “Zayn,” he says lowly, a warning because he obviously knows that something’s been bothering Zayn, and he’s a well rounded man who’s trying to set a firm line between them, if anything; one last stop before they both get themselves in trouble. Tonight would confirm more than a lazy fuck; definitely not another call from Liam who needs to relieve himself after a long day at work.

No, this is Zayn asking politely, and while their agreement still hangs in the air, that Zayn knows he’s allowed to ask as he’s pleased, it hadn’t been in mind that the favor would be called upon during a time of threat to his emotions. “Please,” he tries again, a little more wounded, a little more needy in tone. Zayn forgives the thickness in his throat and blinks away the harsh sting of tears he won’t ever let fall, not on a night like this. Instead, he closes his eyes, and rests his chin on Liam’s shoulder, effectively shifting their positions just slightly, where Zayn’s faced with a different hold on Liam, one that has his body curving into one that can certainly hold them both up so well.

Again, the warmth floods Zayn, makes the sound of sleep a nice thought, but Zayn can’t tell whether he’s lulling himself into a false sense of security or if it truly feels that way, hopes it feels that way before a part of himself gives it up again. “I’ll be good,” he whispers into the air. “Do whatever you want, babe. I’ll be _so_ good, Liam. _Promise_.”

Despite the fact that Zayn feels Liam tense up for a brief moment, it doesn’t last long at all. What’s replaced the initial reaction is just a steady body, where hands glide up along Zayn’s back and smooth circles of comfort are given. His shirt is wrinkled, a light breeze from the material not being so close to his skin, but it’s nice, Zayn blinking quickly just to keep from falling out of focus. “Zayn?” comes Liam’s gentle voice. It sounds quite nice on Liam’s tongue, something Zayn would give anything to hear again, really.

Though once he registers it, he blinks bleary eyes up at Liam as he draws back. The arms that encircle him do not loosen, but Liam does allow what Zayn would label concern to wash upon his features, if only for a moment. He’s set, however, like he’s concentrating on something important, pinched look written between the lines of his body language. Zayn finds it difficult to determine what that means, but then Liam’s cupping his jaw like he’d done before, head tilted to the side as if maybe he’s finally registering what Zayn’s been so eager for. “How bad, babe?”

By now, Zayn thinks that maybe he wasn’t so clear, his previous words just not enough to convey a very complete message. So, when he shrugs as a response, Liam’s not having it, showcasing that by a frown until Zayn amends himself. “Need it,” he gives, voice nowhere near hollow, but cracked with want.

That seems to spark a reaction out of Liam, one that gathers himself in a way that Zayn hasn’t managed yet. There’s also the breathy curse that Liam releases, breaking that calm facade that resides just between the two of them; it’s not enough for Zayn to question the certainty Liam’s had thus far. “Down the hall,” Liam says with his hand still resting against the side of Zayn’s face; he brushes along his cheek, however, nodding in the direction he’s speaking of. “Go down the hall, all the way to the end. My bedroom’s on the left.”

He then points for good measure, and Zayn curiously follows the movement until he feels a nudge in that direction. One last glance is given to Liam, who easily gives him a soft smile and kind eyes before Zayn removes himself from the other man’s presence and does as he’s told. He doesn’t stop to mill about, to look around a home that doesn’t belong to him. His mind only seems able to retain one train of thought and that’s Liam and sex and finding a way to feel something different from what he’s felt for the past few hours.

He wants it removed as much as he can, away from his mind, away from the itch he can’t seem to scratch. And with Liam’s _go ahead_ , Zayn’s going to get it, the feeling of comfort already taking a hold of his heart, even as he goes down the hall and finds Liam’s bedroom. It’s strange to him, so different from what he’d ever imagine, but it’s cozy, and Zayn eyes the bed more than anything else.

Normally he’s not so eager, not so desperate, but like, something’s flipped, and all Zayn knows is what he wants, is completely prepared to do anything to get it, too. He hopes that after tonight, it won’t be brought up again, just another notch in the bedpost that Liam will file away. They’ll move on so easily and continue with their setup as if Zayn’s anguish never existed, and he’ll be fine with that. He’ll be able to live with sweeping it under the rug, never to be mentioned again.

The four poster bed seems like it swallows up the room, but that’s more than likely due to the fact that it’s meant to be the centerpiece. Zayn carefully makes his way to its king-like entirety, running his fingers over the top of it carefully. It’s made up nicely, throw pillows decorating the space near the headboard. All of it looks soft and considerably comfortable, much more than Zayn’s ever slept on before. He wouldn’t be surprised if the sheets are a high thread count, too, only adding to the luxury Zayn’s been lucky enough to experience.

Part of him feels happy, though, a good bed, the perfect time and place to have sex, but then there’s the lingering warning signs going off in Zayn’s head, the fact that he’s doing this as retaliation against his feelings rather than confronting them head on. Zayn doesn’t pay attention to it, though. At least, he tries not to. He ignores the fact that being here in Liam’s bed is probably not appropriate given their relationship. Zayn’s a mindless fuck, someone Liam sleeps with because Liam pays him well enough, because he can have what he wants. Asking for this is more along the lines of intimate, and Zayn freezes the moment that word crosses his mind.

Even if Zayn wanted that, something close (not that it’s crossed his mind before), he can’t allow himself to indulge in that pleasure regardless of whether he wants it or not.

So, at the last second, Zayn steps away from the bed, aims to turn on his heel in order to go ahead and leave. But there’s a noise behind him, and when Zayn turns, Liam’s standing in the doorway looking rather different from the way Zayn had left him. Liam doesn’t look confident as all the other times Zayn has met up with him. In fact, he looks hesitant, and Zayn curses himself for putting this man in such a position. He never should’ve asked for this.

Yet, as Zayn’s eyes trail over Liam, trying to come up with a solution to his problem, he sucks in a deep breath in an effort to shove away the lingering need to shed some tears. There’s too much at once, a flurry of too much to deal with at one time. “We don’t have to,” Zayn whispers into the air. It’s a chance for Liam to back out without anyone being at fault.

“Changed your mind so suddenly?” the other man asks. “I didn’t think it was that bad in here.”

His joke might’ve been well received at another time, maybe in another place, but Zayn shrugs. “I know what I want, but I highly doubt you’re willing to give it.”

“I already said I would, but if you’re second-guessing-”

“No,” Zayn says sharply. “I just- like, this isn’t putting you in a bad position, is it?”

Finally, Liam moves away from the frame of the door and shuffles further into the room. It breaks their distance, closes the gap of misunderstanding despite the fact that Liam can probably sense the reluctance radiating off Zayn, would prefer to tread carefully than make the situation worse. “We had an agreement, didn’t we? Suppose this is you fulfilling your side of it.”

Which should be what Zayn wants to hear, yes. Knowing that Liam’s willing because of promises made before should ease his mind, but Zayn doesn’t think it’s quite appropriate bringing that up, mostly because he knows that what he feels he needs far extends any mutual understanding, or any kind of payment in return. No, what Zayn needs is comfort, and fuck, he’s an idiot thinking Liam would bring him that especially considering the fact that he seems like someone who isn’t incessant upon attachments.

Zayn’s response to that isn’t in words, but in actions. He, too, resolves what’s left of the space between them, knows that if he had had the chance to remove his shoes, he’d wiggle his toes into the carpet before simply tilting his head up at the older man. With eyes dusting over Liam’s face, his features, reading how carefully he’s placed his feelings, Zayn studies him for a moment within the silence. With ruffled hair, locks that curl at the ends and others that sit straight, Liam retains an air of boyishness Zayn finds amusing; he can see it, too, just underneath the gentle, clean-cut lines of whiskers on his chin, dotted golden hues of brown and red. There’s a lack of product evident, a lack of etiquette only reserved in the safety of these four walls.

For a moment, Zayn gets lost in his study, appreciates the fact that Liam still doesn’t make a move unless it’s at his request. So, Zayn sucks in a breath, does his best in focusing on what he wants, and despite the fact that his brain feels a little slow, with his vision dead set upon Liam’s mouth, his round cheeks, his eyes, he nods. And that’s it, really; Zayn only takes a single step closer before he’s reaching up and forward, connecting his mouth with Liam’s, waits until the older man has decided on resting his hand on Zayn’s hip before he pushes for more.

The swipe of Liam’s tongue against Zayn’s lips leaves him gasping, so drawn to the feel of Liam consuming him so easily. That pulsing need for Liam to take him is overwhelming all of him, including his senses, and Zayn can’t help but think of nothing else other than the fact that Liam’s going to take him again, and he’s going to do it with care. Liam’s already easing them over to the bed in a careful dance of steps, and Zayn’s already peppering kisses against Liam’s jaw line without paying any attention to how he’s probably more like dead weight considering the fact that he’s not helping Liam in the slightest.

It’s no matter, though, when the back of Zayn’s knees hit the mattress. He doesn’t fall back, not with Liam’s grip on him, but they do pause for a moment. Zayn taking that as his cue to go ahead and strip out of his clothing. He’s still fully dressed, but the heat of his skin makes it rather unbearable, just wants to feel Liam pressed against him again.

Zayn reaches for the hem of his shirt, drags it up his torso until he’s pulling it over his head and down his arms. It’s still not enough, so he presses the palm of his hand against Liam’s abdomen, pushing him forward slightly so he can distance themselves, effectively giving Zayn enough room to toe off his shoes and slide out of his tracksuit bottoms.

The only thing left on him by then is his boxers, but it seems that Liam himself gets impatient because he’s right back where he was before, hands gripping Zayn’s waist before hauling him up onto the bed. Zayn gasps at being manhandled, his cock already twitching in his boxers. Soon, they’ll be too tight and probably a little painful from his dick being so constricted, but then Liam has his lips pressed against his collarbone, and it takes all of Zayn’s will not to touch himself.

With Liam settled in between Zayn’s spread legs, all he can take in is the fact that it’s entirely too much, yet not enough at the same time. He grows restless with that, doesn’t mean to do it, just wants Liam to stop playing a tease. Still, there’s no rush; they’ve got all night, but between Zayn turning up tonight and finding out exactly what he’d wanted, with Liam certain and willing to give as much, he’s elated.

And maybe Liam reads his thoughts to a certain extent because before Zayn knows what’s going on, Liam’s taken a step back and removes all contact. He glances over Zayn approvingly, like he’s assessing his prey, but then he cups the underside of Zayn’s jaw in his hand before speaking. “I’ll be right back.”

Before he even has a chance to speak, Liam is tilting his head and directs Zayn’s head up so that he’s able to look at Liam directly. “Only a moment,” he reassures. “Make yourself comfortable. When I get back, you better be naked.”

The demand given is crystal clear, and just when Zayn thinks that’s the end of it, Liam’s shaking his head before adding, “Don’t touch yourself either.”

Then, Liam’s letting him go and disappearing behind a door to the bedroom. Zayn guesses it’s probably the bathroom, but he knows better than to investigate, knows that he was given clear instructions. Despite Zayn asking for tonight to actually happen, he knows who’s in charge, and Zayn figures it’s best not to push it yet.

So, he stands and strips what’s left of his clothes off before climbing onto the bed and making himself comfortable. It’s just as nice as it looks, and Zayn waits patiently, worrying at his lip in anticipation more than anything else.

It’s not too long after that when Liam comes back into the room. He has something in his hand, and Zayn immediately knows what it is: a bottle of lube and a condom because they’re not going to botch this regardless of how unplanned their meeting was.

Zayn watches Liam set the items down onto the nightstand, still clothed in his tracksuit bottoms until he’s not anymore, shuffling out of the material where they’re completely discarded on the floor. And Zayn eyes him completely, not ashamed of his staring. It more than likely has to do with the fact that he’s already on the bed, exposed and hard, so willing and trying to be patient without coming across as too needy.

But like, the longer Zayn stares, the more he realizes that Liam’s not joining him until he sees Liam taking himself in his hand and gently tugging on his cock. Zayn knows the grip is way too loose, and it’s not enough friction to leave him satisfied, but something stirs within his belly knowing that Liam’s taunting himself first before making a move, before allowing to indulge himself in Zayn and what he’s willing to give.

Biting his lip further, Zayn allows himself to spread his legs a little wider. The movement isn’t all on him, probably more subconsciously done because Liam’s standing near him and not doing a damn thing about it. Then again, he probably thought way too soon because Liam’s suddenly grabbing at the bottle of lube, as if he’d been debating on his own actions and where to take them.

He gently tosses the bottle onto the bed, right near Zayn so he can easily reach for it without having to move too much, and then Liam’s carefully walking along the side of the mattress until he’s towards the end, leaning up against one of the posters of the bed. Zayn, on the other hand, watches curiously from his place, neatly sitting atop the comforter, his head resting on pillows that he knows he could easily fall asleep on. There are no words to break the silence yet, and just when Zayn thinks he should ask, Liam beats him to it. “If you want me to do anything, then you’re going to have to show me just how much you want it.” An eyebrow lifts as if Liam expects Zayn to protest, but he doesn’t say a word, so Liam continues. “I’m going to watch for now, Zayn, and I’ll join when it’s appropriate.”

It’s a funny thing, really, how Liam makes it seem like he’s in control of the situation. Rather, Zayn’s just been given some guidelines, and because he can’t seem to wait any longer, he goes for it. Quickly grabbing the lube, Zayn pops the cap open. He hasn’t even decided the best way to play with himself is, but he figures he’ll make it up as he goes along, especially as he slicks up his fingers before setting the bottle to the side and wiggling around before he settles on the bed again.

Zayn thinks the easiest thing to do here is to pretend like he’s alone - not that Liam watching him is something he wants to forget, or anything easily forgettable, for that matter - but it helps with feeling rather than anything else. Part of pleasure comes from his imagination, Zayn knows, and the ultimate way to concentrate on that is to simply close his eyes and give in to his desires.

Which he soon realizes that it’s much easier to pinpoint than he originally thought. He merely runs his fingers over his body with the hand not covered in lube. It’s the point where he revels in his own touch, knowing it would be much more amplified if it were Liam.

But since that’s not the case, Zayn twists at a nipple between his fingers before letting go, pinching at it again and rolling the bud. It’s not enough to get him going, does make his cock twitch, already red in color and curved against the lower part of his stomach.

To which, Zayn pays attention to next. Zayn’s careful with touching, just lightly grazes himself because it’s easier to keep the pleasure to a bare minimum when he knows that Liam’s yet to have his way.

Zayn doesn’t grip his cock, nor does he play with the head where there’s certainly a good amount of pre-cum already leaking from it. Rather, Zayn continues down, cups his balls and gently rolls them, gives a nice tug that elicits a rather quiet moan made loud by the fact that the room is completely silent.

Then, Zayn begins to spread his legs, and this entire time he’s still not looking at Liam, too concentrated on himself to care about the older man’s pleasure rather than his own. Though, it doesn’t seem like Liam’s complaining about it either way because when Zayn lays himself out, legs wide apart without feeling too much of a burn from the stretch, he takes his lube-coated fingers and carefully trails them downwards, middle finger circling his hole and only pressing in the tip for a second.

He mostly does this to get himself wet. It’s not as cold as the lube probably would be had he hadn’t warmed it up with his skin, but he can feel it, likes the slow heat simmering in his belly, the feel good butterflies that embed themselves into his stomach as he continues to touch himself.

At some point, Zayn thinks he feels the bed dip, and while he has half a mind to open his eyes so he can see whether or not Liam’s finally decided to join him, when no touch comes, no command, and no breathy fuck like he expects, Zayn ignores it for himself.

As tenderly as possible, Zayn finally pushes a finger past that small ring of muscle. He goes slow, not that it’s been a long time since he’s taken anything, but because he wants to savor it. As much as Zayn likes it rough, it’s quite tantalizing taking things slow, to enjoy the actions as they are instead of looking for a hurried release.

Zayn continues to push in until he’s knuckle deep, and even then, he can tell it’s not enough to do much for him. He can feel all of it, however, and it doesn’t mean it’s not pleasurable because it is, but immediately, Zayn pulls back before carefully inserting two fingers.

The best part about it, aside from the stretch and the fact that he’s being filled, is that it’s Zayn doing something for himself, something that he likes, that he can easily take what’s commanding by him rather than going along the motions with someone else. Zayn feels part proud, part relieved that his body is able to swallow his fingers, keep them warm while simultaneously evoking little whimpers of contentment.

When both fingers are all the way in, Zayn eventually curls them in an attempt to find his prostate. It doesn’t take much, obviously, considering the fact that he’s done this more times than he’d care to admit. Yet, even as he finds it, it never ceases to amaze him just how good it feels, that little tingle of a spark genuinely doing something for him.

Zayn finds himself immediately grinding down onto his fingers, mouth falling open as he continues to push and rub that bundle of nerves. It’s not enough to send him over the edge, but his body does rock, can’t quite contain everything he’s feeling.

And then Zayn stops for a moment, decides to fuck himself with his fingers, keeping his cock neglected and swollen. His cries are a little more diligent now, more steady and consistent since he’s going along with a rhythm. Zayn can’t help but bite at his lip and change his movements to scissoring before there's a tight grip around his ankle.

All at once, Zayn goes still, the touch welcomed, certainly. The windows cast the only light in the room, shadows bouncing off the furniture, and most importantly, Liam. Without the orange tint of flicking light from a bulb, what’s left is fluttery lashes and a promised twist of desire etched across the older man’s face. Something sweet swoops low across Zayn’s tummy, his own thrum of longing stamping its way across his body in small, gentle flicks.

If it’s not written as clear as day, even within the blue-hue of the room, Zayn curls his toes and quietly pulls his foot back until Liam stops him from doing so. Fingers won’t leave bruises, but it allows for Liam to eventually crawl up Zayn’s frame as slow as possibly, releasing his ankle in the process. It’s a slow slide up Zayn’s body, but he watches nonetheless, rush of blood in his ears, the ticking of a clock so far away. Liam presses kisses every now and again, here and there, with curious eyes cast towards Zayn and the fact that he’s still two fingers deep within himself.

Quickly, Zayn removes them, even goes so far to spread himself a little further, a little more inviting as if he wasn’t already doing that before. There’s a hum of appreciation, though, and Zayn takes that for what it’s worth.

And then Liam’s suddenly above him, the curl of his lip quite evident, with the fluttering of his lashes as he studies Zayn’s face. “You put on one hell of a show.”

The words are soothing to Zayn’s ears, and he blushes something fierce. His cheeks feel hot, definitely turned red by his sudden scrutiny, and Zayn figures it’s a fortunate thing to be caught within the low light. His timidness might be an easy thing to pick up regardless, especially with the way Liam looks rather endeared, but Zayn turns away with a roll of his shoulders and hopes that the extent of it is shrouded.

Zayn can still feel Liam’s eyes on him, and it’s much appreciated. It does something to him, though, now that they’re so close to one another. Zayn’s not quite sure what it is, maybe the thrill of being so open, so caught up and exposed and playing with his nerves that he soon relaxes more, the weight of his previous embarrassment lifting and settling into something much, much different.

There is no way to pinpoint what it is that Zayn feels, or at least it’s not something he’s been privy to before all of this. And that’s not to say inklings of being so secure haven’t hit home with him any other time he’s been with Liam, but something about tonight is different for him, different for the both of them. Zayn doesn’t go out of his way in believing that this is going to change anything (not that he’d particularly want it to, anyway), nor does he completely mind.

But maybe it’s the anticipation, and maybe it’s what he’s searched for so long now, that appeal of being satisfied, of feeling secure in knowing that ultimately, Zayn doesn’t always have to worry about his well being in such a situation. It’s enough of a driving force for Zayn to feel a little foggy underneath the exterior, enough for his limbs to feel slow and drunk-like in movement. Zayn’s aware of himself and the situation, but everything is heightened, and before he knows it, he’s delicately purring, “M’ready, daddy.”

Regret doesn’t linger in the color of his eyes, nor does it come in a slow build as the seconds tick by. In fact, Zayn feels positively glowing.

But, from the looks of things, Zayn’s the only one feeling more than confident, particularly when he takes in the fact that Liam doesn’t exactly exude his demeanor he’s held for himself any other time they’ve been together.

“Zayn, that’s not-” but Liam cuts himself off before he has a chance to express his thoughts, as if maybe he shouldn’t protest.

Although, Zayn nudges him because despite his readiness, that doesn’t mean Liam doesn’t have the option to back out, and Zayn doesn’t need to let himself get in too deep regardless of Liam confirming that he’s okay with this.

Concern washes over Zayn despite him not registering Liam’s reluctance, wonders if it has to do with him, or if he’s been too demanding. And as he pay attention to Liam instead of his own bloody thoughts, Liam’s frowning. “We haven’t talked-”

“Please?” Zayn whispers, just soft enough for Liam to catch.

Zayn watches as Liam runs a tongue over the corner of his mouth, the older man simply swallowing while looking mildly reluctant. Although, it doesn’t last long when it seems like he’s worked out what he should say next, with Zayn underneath him completely prepared to be compliant. “Zayn,” Liam murmurs.

Zayn listening, blinking up at him while keeping his thoughts as straight as he can when he answers with, “Yeah?”

“You’re okay?” comes the question, Liam’s gaze drawn over subtle features. “You should’ve-”

“M’okay,” Zayn reassures with a heavy nod, smiling languidly. “Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

Another pause after the clear indication, and it’s done. Zayn grins immediately when Liam sits back, reaching out for the discarded bottle of lube and the condom that still sits on that nightstand. There’s no amount of slowness added to Liam’s movements, not like he needs to wait or take his time, not with Zayn already prepared, splayed out on the bed, wide open. He still doesn’t touch himself, not when he watches as Liam opens the condom, slides it onto his cock, and then slicks it up with just a little more lube as precaution.

Zayn’s appreciative, and maybe he’d give that more thought if he wasn’t so busy continuing his gaze, the way Liam’s muscles move, the bob of his cock as he gets back in position. Zayn figures it’ll be easy, another senseless fuck, one he knows won’t take long because he doesn’t think he can last. Yet, he’s surprised the moment Liam twirls a finger at him. “Turn over,” he says.

The low whimper escapes him before he has time to even process it, but Zayn’s mouth immediately goes dry, carefully sitting up so he can do as he’s told.

“That’s good, baby. On your knees.”

Liam motions for Zayn to continue turning since he seems like he’s taking his time. The direction and tone Liam gives, while gruff, is low and firm, and Zayn doesn’t waste any time after that. Especially not with Liam looking at him as though he might just manhandle him into position if he doesn’t get to it. Zayn settles down, left cheek pressed into the softness of the pillow, thankful that it’s there so he’s not left to find comfort in the mattress. Not that it’s not soft; it’s not as if Zayn hadn’t noticed the quality surrounding him before; it’s just that, despite looking at it earlier, it deserves a moment more of appreciation.

Although, Zayn’s barely finished getting himself situated when he feels the slow crawl of Liam’s fingers up his legs, the bed dipping ever so slightly behind him. It only means one thing, and Zayn does his best to glance behind him, anticipation more than rising. He doesn’t, though. As much as he would like to given the fact that Liam would more than likely push him back down anyway. Zayn extends his legs apart, welcoming Liam, beckoning him to get closer. He mostly does this just to keep from pressing his entire body against the bed, eliminating the struggle of wanting to provide his cock some friction. It hangs swollen and heavy between his legs, already plump enough to draw pleasure from, and while it’s bearable at the moment, it’s not going to be that way for long. Particularly with the way Liam’s doing a tremendous job of making his presence known, kneading Zayn’s flesh as best he can, touching him in all the right places.

Traveling up, up, up.

Zayn drags his bottom lip between his teeth, the unexpected gasp slipping from his mouth as Liam reaches the curve of his arse, inching closer to his hole at a dangerously slow rate. Butterflies burst within his belly, and Zayn all but moans the moment Liam’s slipping a finger inside of him. It’s just one, nothing special, and obviously nothing he can’t take, but it’s the feel of someone else within him that makes all the difference. Liam’s got long fingers and the right amount of pressure, and it’s no wonder Zayn decides that the other man’s been the best he’s ever been with. It’s not as if he’s severely trying to make comparisons to previous intimate moments, and Zayn might even be hesitant to say that this is the most satisfied he’s been, but Liam has offered him what he hadn’t found, and that in itself is why he keeps coming back.

That’s a nonchalant realization, one that takes a backseat when Zayn feels Liam remove his finger in favor of grabbing his ass with a hand, spreading him even further and no doubly taking his cock with the other so he can line himself up accordingly. It’s just the tip that pushes past the ring of his hole; it shouldn’t be the cause for a startled cry of comfort, but it is, and Zayn curls his fingers into the sheets beneath him, eyes falling closed as Liam continues to press in.

“Alright?” comes the low murmur, a quick thought of concern.

He struggles with finding any kind of concrete answer, Zayn does. The thickness of Liam’s cock stretching him open is enough to completely wipe his brain clean of any coherent thought, including a definite confirmation that he’s more than o-fucking-kay.

But Liam’s persistent in asking again, and when he stops moving, that’s what makes Zayn jerk out of his reverie, brows knitting together with an attempt to swallow properly with how dry his mouth is. “Y-yeah,” he stammers. “M’good.” Truthfully, though, Zayn kinda feels high and Liam isn’t even completely inside him. His nerves are on fire and Liam’s not stalling anymore. Everything is more than _alright_.

By the time Liam’s settled himself balls deep, Zayn’s trying not to become a writhing mess. In fact, he doesn’t even wait for Liam to give him the chance to adjust before he’s already rocking back on Liam’s cock. There’s a twinge of pain, but it fades the more he squirms around Liam’s cock. Zayn’s not even sure how long he goes for before there are hands on his hips that still his movements. He whines out a harsh, “No,” with Liam adding pressure until he can no longer move. “I need- _Liam_ ,” he practically growls and tries to wiggle his hips in desire. He is mad.

That earns him a harsh slap across his arse cheeks, completely unexpected with a resounding, “be quiet, Zayn. Good boys are quiet.”

Zayn does open his mouth to protest because he’s not afraid to do so, but he doesn’t expect the second slap against his skin, against his backside and the tingling sensation he gets. His skin is probably getting marked up by now, on its way of being tender. He stops protesting. Zayn closes his mouth so harshly, his teeth clank together, thankful it’s not a moment where his tongue had been in the way.

“You’re not to make a sound when I fuck you,” Liam then instructs, starting off with a very fragile thrust that implies he’s testing Zayn’s capability of his request. “Only when I tell you to. Can you do that?”

There’s a nod somewhere mixed in with the way Zayn feels heavy, that drunk feeling definitely sticking around. Zayn’s very aware of himself and the situation, that sensitivity, and the cock filling him up. But everything else, his mind, his limbs feel loose and subdued by something he’s not truly felt before. He’s warm and hot at the same time, fuzzy, and uncomplicated. Everything feels nice, and he doesn’t ever want it to go away, doesn’t want Liam to go away.

Which is the main reason why he’ll listen. He said he would, and now that he’s in position, Liam deep within him, taking some control when Zayn doesn’t have any left to give, it’s not anything he wants to leave any time soon.

“Answer me, little bird,” Liam says with more than just casual affection, mostly reserved when they’re in the bedroom. It’s not as if Zayn’s not addressed with a certain type of fondness anywhere else, but Liam knows when to play delicate. Now is one of those times.

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “Yes, daddy.”

“Good,” is the first part of the reply before the added, “I’m going to fuck you now, baby,” as Liam squeezes his ass and starts to move his hips again. Slow paced movements is all that happens at first, just a careful rhythm of Liam’s thighs smacking into Zayn’s, hips meeting the swell of his arse each time Liam thrusts forward.

It’s a nice rhythm, very gradual but it is not enough. Zayn finally finds his frustration with it when it’s still not enough. Though, the inkling of Liam’s words still ring clear, and he squeezes his muscles as a general way of gaining attention. Which does something, by the way, just not exactly what Zayn’s after. Liam shifts from what he can tell, gathering a handful of Zayn’s upper thigh, positioning him where he wants. It nearly causes Zayn to lose what little balance he has; although not much harm would be done anyway considering Zayn practically has his face smushed into his pillow. He does, however, lose control of everything else, especially when Liam slips out of him, the emptiness apparent and gradual when he digs his fingers into the sheets and groans.

Liam clicks his tongue, but doesn’t reprimand him like he probably ought to, Instead, he’s got Zayn completely pressed against the mattress now, an easy way for him to grind against the bed since it seems like the older man knows what he wants. But Zayn complies and keeps still until Liam’s spreading his ass and filling him up again. This time, the angle isn’t just different; Liam’s resting just above him, lips already against the base of his neck, mouthing at the tattoo Liam’s commented on before. A bird with splayed out feathers that don’t really tell much of a story, just that Zayn had thought it was cool to add to his collection. Ink-stained skin a common part of his everyday attire. Whether it represents him or not, it’s not how Zayn views it, but it’s special, something planned as he worked and saved up to get it done.

Liam runs his tongue and teeth over the sharp angles that make up Zayn’s shoulders. The warmth of his mouth sends a cascade of goosebumps over Zayn’s skin, reveling in the heat that it brings. Liam is solid above him, chest to back with his arms on either side of Zayn, careful not to lay too much of his weight on the body beneath lest he crush him. He’s gentle in a way Zayn doesn’t understand yet, but he can’t ever complain, not with the heat and the sudden overwhelming feeling of care that Liam provides.

Zayn sighs into the pillow, letting go and relaxing to the point where not only he exists, but he's feeling. His eyes are closed, nerves frayed with ease as Liam slides in and out of him, hips practically glued to his backside as he fucks into Zayn. With every thrust, he shifts, cock trapped between the sheets and him; the slow grind from Liam’s pushes only helps in adding friction, and Zayn has a fleeting thought that this surely won't last long.

And it'd be a shame if that were the case, but Zayn certainly wouldn’t blush in embarrassment. Although, he does concentrate as best as he can anyway, wants to revel in such a peaceful moment before he has to give it up to the night air after he’s taken back home, left to crawl into bed like nothing truly happened. That wouldn’t be the case, of course, and only Liam and him would know it; his body would know it, too, from the satisfying ache in his backside, the stretch of unused muscles from lying in such a position acquired to give him a necessary release.

So, Zayn closes his eyes, tongue darting out of his mouth to lick his lips and basks in only what he feels. Liam’s running his hands down Zayn’s sides, cups the back of his knee which draws his leg up, allowing more room for him to grind deep into Zayn. It stirs the need to twist his face up in complete pleasure, only barely remembering that he’s supposed to keep quiet, and it’s only when Zayn feels delicate fingers caressing his jaw that he smiles, turning into the touch. “ _Liam_ ,” he ends up saying, teeth immediately sinking into his bottom lip so he doesn’t start again.

But Liam’s smile can be felt against his shoulder, and he hums in response. “Told you not to say a word, didn’t I?”

Zayn nods. “S-sorry,” comes the choked response before he’s grinning again. “Feels nice; you feel good.”

“Do I?”

This time it’s Zayn who lets out a purr of appreciation, rocking his hips forward and back just the smallest amount which causes even more of a drag against his cock. “Amazing, really.” Which is no less than the truth.

Though, and it’s not as if Liam doesn’t believe him, but he does take Zayn’s hip in hand, fingers pressing into flesh where it may or may not leave bruises, uses his leverage and strength to drive into Zayn a little harder than before. There’s the press of his lips right behind Zayn’s ear, then traveling up towards the shell of it before he’s suggesting, “Then why don’t you continue, baby. Seems you can’t keep quiet; might as well tell me what I’m doing right.”

The resist to snort is absolutely there, and Zayn succeeds, but it’s mostly out of the fact that Liam’s cockiness isn’t ever that evident unless it’s purposeful. What better a time for it than now, so Zayn forgoes the roll of his eyes and the snarky comeback he’d reserve for Liam at any other given time for a simple dip of the head and the loud exhale of breath that escapes him. “You make me feel like-” And then Zayn’s words are cut short when Liam’s cock casually brushes over his prostate with a recent shift. It’s not as if Liam hadn’t been before, but the angle is much different, and Zayn goes utterly speechless. Once again, his fingers clutch the sheets and when he finds that that’s not enough, he grabs the corner of the pillow and twists it into the palm of his hand, teeth already bitten down onto his lip with the added stuttering of his own hips. He tries not to move too much, which probably makes it seem like he's a bit restless, but it’s difficult trying to distinguish whether he should move away from the pleasure, out of being too sensitive, or towards it.

The decision isn’t exactly up to him considering Zayn’s nerves flare with desire, and his body reacts accordingly. There’s no complaint, and Zayn goes with it, arching back just to get another taste of that sweetness that licks the deepest parts hidden within himself. His reaction to all of it must’ve been something, too, especially if Liam’s response is to get a little harder, a little more rough.

Suddenly, there’s a hand snaking around Zayn, just under him to get a good grip on his shoulder, the effort suddenly making sense when Liam continues thrusting, picking up the pace, he's told a careful tactic to keep Zayn from sliding forward and knocking his head against the headboard.

The entire bed rattles, but not as much as Zayn’s would’ve thought in this situation, and maybe that’s mostly due to the amount of ridiculous money as its price tag, well worth it if Liam can keep his furniture intact. But Zayn only has the mind to be thankful, that he won’t have to leave guilty for breaking anything, that he can leave here knowing that if anything’s truly ruined, it'll be the sheets that are gathering beneath his body, that aren’t so kind to his aching cock.

The thought alone seems to tip Liam off, as if he’s an actual mind reader because in-between both of their pants, Zayn mewling at every thrust, Liam smirks against the line of his shoulder, gently bites at the flesh until he’s licking his wounds and asking, “Think you can cum without me touching you? Without you touching yourself?”

Throat still dry, Zayn parts his lips to say something, but Liam takes that as a cue to give a harder fuck, hips slapping against Zayn’s arse so and he loses whatever he’d mustered up to say.

“Try again, little bird. Use your words.”

They slowly crawl forth to the front of his mind, but it takes the extra bit of effort, like dripping honey, silky and sweet and worth the wait. “Maybe-” is the only thing Zayn’s able to formulate before Liam’s repeating his previous action, thrusting in a little harder just to cut Zayn off.

“You can do it,” Liam coaxes, and what his aim is is left unannounced, for Zayn to guess later if he’s even coherent enough after this.

But he does try again, and this time Liam doesn’t stop Zayn from speaking. The syllables slip off his tongue no problem, not even quite sure of what he’s said exactly until Liam’s leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth and continuing to grind into his ass.

The constant pressure and the growing heat within his belly should be a sign, the pleasure is at a high, and Liam continues to whisper sweet things into his ear. Within the span of just a minute or two, Zayn’s becomes a babbling mess, pretty sure he’s not even making sense at this point. Along with that, Zayn can’t focus his vision, so he closes his eyes and mumblings out a steady string of Liam’s name, all soft whines, and loud groans, bubbling to the surface from deep within his chest. The mantra becomes apparent to his own ears, and to Liam’s as well because after that, the only thing Liam leaves him with is, “Let go, babe. M’right here.”

Liam has his hand slipping between the mattress and his body, forgoing the idea of making Zayn come with just a cock in his ass by lithe fingers grasping him. Sharply, Zayn sucks in a breath, hips stuttering to fuck into the loose fist he’s been given. It’s tight considering he’s laying on his stomach, and he can feel the sharp bones of Liam’s knuckles digging into his flesh, but it’s fine; it’s perfectly okay when there’s just a dip of a thumb between the slit of his cock, the moderate slide of massaging fingers, and Zayn continuing the litany of Liam’s name.

He doesn’t last much longer after that, too much, too sensitive, and the added bonus of warmth encasing him does Zayn better than he could’ve possibly imagined. Zayn cums so sloppily, whispers of Liam, so good, and the croon of Daddy just on the tip of the tongue, swallowing the silence whole. He sobs into the pillow, mind practically going blank save for the sudden burst of colors behind his eyelids, the fact that he can faintly feel his wet, sticky cum between him, and the bed. It’ll bleed across the sheets, creating a tacky, unwelcome mess, but Liam continues to coax Zayn, fucks him right through his orgasm, plays with the sensitive head of his cock until Zayn’s squirming just to get away from the touch. He’s too sentient right now, the fact that Liam still needs to get off not even his first thought occurring until Zayn blinks away his out of focus vision and twists a lazy smile with half-lidded eyes upon his face.

Zayn does his best to lean up for a kiss and because he’s mostly trapped by Liam’s body and his position, he’s forced to whine and bite his lip, gaining Liam’s full attention just to meet him half away. It’s not perfect, and it’s a little off considering the angle, but it pleases Zayn enough to finally give rest, nipping at Liam’s arm still around his body until the older man’s nearly shaking above him.

There’s no way to completely tell when Liam comes, can’t quite feel him because of the condom, but there are little tell tale signs that Zayn’s picked up on, and the most noticeable one is the deep sigh Liam gives, the way he grinds his hips into Zayn’s ass just before he releases. He ends up pressing a string of kisses to Zayn’s cheek, all down the side of his neck and the upper part of his back until he’s pulling out of Zayn, moving off of him to more than likely rid of the condom and clean them up a bit.

What’s unexpected however, is for Liam to come back so quickly, only having been gone a quick moment, just to the corner of the room for the wastepaper basket Zayn hadn’t seen before. He feels Liam by his side, turning him over until Liam’s in between his legs and petting at his hair, running his fingers through the sweaty, long locks. “You okay, Zayn?” he asks in that smooth voice of his. He seems transfixed on Zayn as he looks on, completely perplexed for an answer.

Zayn just nods, though, his own fingers coming round to graze Liam’s beard, neatly trimmed and giving him an edge of sophistication Zayn’s positive he’ll never have.

“Not good enough,” Liam continues, as if maybe he’s actually after something. Although, he doesn’t ask for another answer just yet. “You did very well, little bird.”

The nickname more than likely elicits a sparkle in Zayn’s eye, particularly when he gains another dopey smile on his face. “Yeah?”

Liam hums, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Yeah,” he affirms. “You’re always so good for me.”

Whether he means to blush or not isn’t the question. It’s the fact that he does that sends Zayn into motion. Before he knows it, his lips are pressed against Liam’s, easily scratching at Liam’s beard until he pulls back just to press his forehead against Liam’s. “M’glad.”

Zayn’s hip is in Liam’s hand, and he feels the softest squeeze before Liam’s sighing and asking, “You coming back to me?”

Particularly, Zayn’s not sure what he means at the moment, but he nods his head without an immediate response. All he really does know is that he doesn’t want this sated feeling to ever go away, the twist and turns in his tummy, the way his entire body feels a bit like jello. At the moment, Zayn’s all loose limbs and wide smiles, crinkly eyes and languid in motion, and while he lays there and gathers himself pieces by piece, Liam doesn't leave his side until Zayn complains of messy lube, and cum dried on his skin.

“Give me a moment,” Liam murmurs, careful when pulling away from Zayn and watching him until he has to head towards the bathroom to gather a flannel and clean them up.

Zayn’s given a definite moment of silence, left to himself, fingers tapping against his hip and trying to regain some sense of motion again. His nerves still tingle, as if they were frayed in the aftermath of sex. He can’t let that stop himself, though, knows quite soon that Liam’s going to be calling his driver back and escorting Zayn off the premises; how long he’s been here, Zayn’s not quite sure, doesn’t even know where all of his clothes are so he can check his phone.

What he does know, however, is the fact that the silence stretches on a little too long, seconds ticking by and the steady beat of his heart is ever clear to Zayn’s ears. It’s then that his mellow state and lax body seem to drain away instantly, the pull at his brain reminding him that he’s in Liam’s bed. The ceiling isn’t anything spectacular, but Zayn squints his eyes at it and aims to use that as a way to rid of his swarming thoughts yet it’s just a white wall put over their head to keep them away from outside conditions, not a miracle worker that leaves Zayn any better.

It’s spacious and vast, just like this room, and Zayn thinks he can make out little shapes carved into it from the plaster underneath the paint. His breath suddenly hitches, his heart pounding rhythmically by now. There’s absolutely no reason for the sudden spark of emotion, but Zayn forgoes his views and the rapid downward spiral of his mind as he tries his best to swallow the thickness in his throat, quickly turning over on his side and curling into himself.

The shaky panic doesn’t seem to go away though, not with how sudden it’d been brought upon, at least. No matter how hard he tries, it’s not enough. His vision is blurry as fuck no matter how much he tries to blink it away, and even the squeezing of his eyes shut doesn’t do a damn thing to take away the sudden burn that tears usually bring. Before Zayn knows it, there’s a steady string of wetness licking at his cheeks. He resists the urge to brush the tears away, and instead, tries his best to let the pillow beneath his head soak up the mess he’s making, even curses himself because he knows that Liam’s not going to be able to fix him.

And besides, he shouldn’t be doing this here. It’s the worse time and the worse place, and the only reason he’d allowed himself to walk through Liam’s door was to forget. That had been the only temporary solution he had been able to think of at the time. Feeling gratified for a brief moment must’ve fucked with his emotions because he hears a different kind of sob escape himself. He tries to muffle it, though, doesn’t even know what he’s going to do when Liam reappears, but it seems like it’s too late to think of a plan because before he knows it, there’s a gentle hand on his hip and arms that eventually gather him up.

Zayn soon finds himself pressed against a warm body, face buried into the crook of Liam’s neck, him practically lying on top of the other man. Fingers gently brush through his hair like they had just after sex, and Zayn can’t help but allow himself to hold onto Liam a little tighter, still naked, still covered in a light amount of sweat.

“Zayn,” is heard just against his ear, voice low and possibly a little worried, just a soft attempt not to spook him.

And Zayn would laugh at how all of this looks, how he’s crying after he specifically said he was okay to have sex, was okay for all of this to happen. But he shakes his head, doesn’t pull back from Liam and his gracious arms that encircle Zayn’s body while he continues to let the slow trickle of tears fall. “Not your fault,” he simply says because it’d be wrong of Zayn to let Liam believe otherwise.

If anything, Liam’s done him a favor, has given him something he knew he needed, has decided to take him into his arms and hold him properly despite the fact that this is way more intimate than he should’ve ever allowed them to be.

But it seems like Liam doesn’t mind, and Zayn can’t find his will to move or leave, so he stays right there. Zayn lets Liam pull the comforter around their bodies, shifts them so that they’re laying back on the pillows and holds onto Zayn for dear life. The older man is much more than a pillow, much more than just someone to hold for Zayn at the moment. He can’t say exactly what that label is, really. He can’t seem to ignore the way that Liam’s fingers dance across his back in soothing touches, either. It’s a little too much and way too little all at the same time, but Zayn sighs and appreciates it for what it’s worth.

It’s a feeling, and it’s a position he hasn’t experienced in a very long time, if ever.

Zayn stays like that for a long while, until the tears have dried, until he’s placing one of the softest kisses he’s ever given someone right against the birthmark on Liam’s neck. He’s not thinking about anything else other than the fact that someone is holding him during what some would consider a vulnerable moment. But then again, Zayn thinks if it had to be anyone, then he’s just glad it’s Liam.

Before he knows it - although, really, before either of them knows it, they’re drifting off to sleep into the late hours of the night. Zayn closes his eyes and falls into slumber with such ease, warm, safe, and with a cracked heart no one truly knows he has.

+

There's a moment where Zayn doesn't know whether he's sleeping or dreaming, though his eyes blink open, and the room is drizzled in sunlight. With the curtains drawn back from the window across the room, it's easy to tell that dawn is approaching, and the sun will be up within the next hour.

Yet, that's not what captivates Zayn the most, even if he is dreaming (because he hasn't determined if that's the case exactly). No, it's the fact that he's perched on top of a warm body, his chest pressed against another man's side with an arm slung low across his waist. Easily enough, Zayn nuzzles against the man's neck, right in the space where shoulders meet.

It's comfortable; that's what Zayn makes out of it all, the slight curl of fingers against his skin being the most responsible thing to do. Although, sleep calls his name again, and Zayn doesn't mind staying here in this nice, peaceful place for a little while longer.

+

Normally, Zayn has an alarm clock that wakes him up every morning because he knows that if he doesn't, he'd sleep through everything despite Veronica swearing he should (and most likely does) have a body clock.

Still, this time seems different, or maybe his sister is right because Zayn gently wakes up in such a peaceful manner, he doesn't even bother to take into consideration where he is. Only how he feels matters most, until he's stretching out his limbs and scratching just below his navel. The bed is warm beneath him, pillow comfortable, and he'd like to assume that if he stayed right here for just a little bit longer, surely he'd fall asleep again.

Though, that's not the most ideal thing, especially when Zayn takes in his surroundings and notices that he's definitely not in his house, not even in his old room back home. The walls aren't as white, painted some random color Zayn doesn't know the name of but looks like a shade of gray and blue mixed together. The four posters of the bed stand attention, and Zayn sits up before rubbing what's left of sleep he has out of his eyes.

From there, Zayn takes in his surroundings again once he's regained his vision, glancing over and realizing that Liam's nowhere to be found. Zayn reaches out, feeling the spot and noticing that it still has traces of warmth attached to it, as if Liam had been here all night and had only woken up not too long ago.

It's also then that Zayn spots the pile of clothes at the end of the bed. And well, it's not a pile, per se. His clothes, from what he can see as he slips out from underneath the covers, feet touching carpet before making the around to the end of the bed, are neatly folded clothes. They're all stacked up, ready for Zayn to slip back into, and it's only the first of what he'd like to call a weird morning after.

Before he even goes searching for Liam (or even a note that suggests he needs to go ahead and show himself out), Zayn trails to the bathroom, takes care of business and leaves it at that so that he isn't giving himself time to be nosey. He vaguely remembers the layout of Liam's house, knows that if anything, he'll shuffle along until he finds the front door on his own.

But as luck would have it, Zayn stumbles into the living room, and across from the living room is the kitchen, and in the kitchen is Mr. Payne, and not only is he shirtless with low-hanging tracksuit bottoms covering himself, but he’s doing something Zayn can't see.

What Zayn can make out, however, is the fact that his back creates various indents, muscles moving along as the older man does. It's quite mesmerizing, and Zayn apparently watches long enough for Liam to feel his stare, turning around and motioning for Zayn to come closer. "Take a seat," he says, while pointing at a bar stool sitting in front of the kitchen bar.

He listens, and it's difficult to pinpoint just why he does so. The front door is a few steps away to the left of him, and Zayn could excuse himself no problem. Then again, he doesn't have a ride and honestly, and maybe it sounds selfish, but Zayn's kind of depending on a chauffeur. So, he'll go along with this and figure a way out of here without intruding any further.

"Wasn't sure if you'd be hungry or not," Liam's speaking, setting a plate directly in front of Zayn.

It smells good, and the pancakes look delicious and not some artificial store-bought kind that taste vaguely of vanilla and plastic wrap. Zayn's mouth waters, glancing up at Liam through the thick of his lashes. "You sure about this?"

Liam gives a nod before he's back to fixing a plate for himself. They eat in silence for the time being, Zayn taking small bites rather than rushing, but there are questions on his mind, the memory of last night topped with the floodgates opening. Zayn's not quite sure what he's opening for: whether Liam's going to ignore everything that happened, or ask if he's okay, or even going so far as to see what the cause of Zayn's sudden need had been about. That in itself would lead to his crying fit, and really, the longer he thinks about it, the easier it is for Zayn's cheeks to flush a dark red. He can only imagine his eyes puffy, maybe a little red rimmed with sleep and left over tears from bitter circumstances and a rather less than perfect handle on his current situation. It's not particularly shame that makes itself known, but maybe it's close to it. The relationship at present here isn't meant for moments of crying, with more emotion expressed and sentimentality. It's sex, and eye candy, and pleasure, and when Zayn puts his fork down without finishing his entire plate, he can't help but cross his arms in front of his chest and call out Liam's name because if anything, he has something to say, and it needs to be said now. "I'm sorry."

It's expressed with less tact that Zayn tries to control, wincing at the wobble of his voice and the quiet syllables leaving the tip of his tongue. Though, Liam pauses and looks up at Zayn with confused eyes and a furrowed brow as if Zayn had completely spoken a different language. "What for?"

His mouth gapes open, he's sure of it, like a fish out of water, struggling for words that'll make sense without being incredibly blunt. "Last night," he manages with a squeak. "That wasn't-"

"As long as you're okay?" Liam poses the question. He's staring intently now, as if studying Zayn to see if he'll pull out a lie rather than the truth.

But it'd be hard to get by with that, a lie. Not that Zayn hasn't said a thing or two of the sort, but the evidence is clear in this case, and while Liam might now know his initial reasoning, it might be quite easy for him to pry and for Zayn to spill all of it. Bottled up emotions have never been a healthy way to deal with things, and Zayn often finds they get to the brim, flowing over until he's worked it all out, only to repeat the process over and over again. It's easier, is what he tells himself, yet he ends up in a mess of things for not being smart and confronting his overlying fears. "I'll be fine," he admits because it's not a lie, and it's not necessarily the truth. Zayn knows he'll be okay in due time, worked through most of it last night, and he'll spend the rest of his shift later in the day mulling over how much of an idiot he is. But at least he's mustered up something for now, something that’ll tide them both over and not press the issue for more than what it is.

“Good.” But even with that, Liam looks reluctant to part ways with the conversation, shoulders a little more rigid and a steely look that isn’t necessarily reserved for Zayn, but the added pressure of whether he should take a particular jump that Zayn’s hoping he won’t. “It was a little overwhelming-”

Liam starts it, and quickly Zayn jumps in by cutting the older man off with a shake of his head and minimal words that consist of, “I didn’t mean to like, spring it on you.” Which is the truth, of course, but it’s the persuading he really needs to work on. “Like, I hadn’t planned-”

“Zayn,” comes the steady interruption. “Not what I meant; not in the way you think.”

Gentle is Liam’s nature, and while Zayn’s grown bashful in the least flattering way possible, he avoid glancing up at him, finds his pancakes soaked in syrup and most likely soggy. “Still.”

Liam hums and taps the counter for a moment before he begins again. “If you need- well, I’m here,” he says, tone warm and inviting, the complete opposite of what Zayn thinks he should be hearing. “Although next time, if that’s- if that’s something you need, we’ve got to be safe about it, yeah?” Liam proposes. “Can’t have you lost, right. I can’t have you not knowing what you’re doing.”

Zayn licks his lips and nods, thinks he understands what Liam’s getting at as if what he felt had been translated so effortlessly between them through actions rather than words. Then again, that’s the underlying issue, and Zayn finds it difficult not to mentally scold himself for that. “I knew,” he reasons firmly, looking up into Liam’s eyes as he says it, needs them both to know what he means it, that last night hadn’t happened without both parties strictly involved. “I knew exactly what was going on, and for what it’s worth-” Then he pauses, taking in Liam’s face that reads listening and open, and Zayn doesn’t exactly know how to accept that save for the relief that resides over the tension in the few short seconds he remains silent. “I’m glad you like, let me in,” he admits. “That it was you, if anything. Thank you. M’not quite sure what I would’ve done otherwise.”

It might be a strange sentiment all the way around, but Zayn means it, and he doesn’t aim to take any of it back. He does, however, wait on bated breath to see if maybe he’s crossed yet another line, it definitely growing blurry by the minute. And maybe that’s something he should worry himself over, the delicacy he’s bringing to the table right now, but Zayn’s already pushed and received, and there’s not much left he could do or say that would make any of this more than what it already is.

“Zayn,” Liam’s calling his name, bringing him back to their unsettled conversation. The older man rounds the bar, slightly shuffling to his left before bringing a careful hand up to Zayn’s chin, turning his head so that he has no other choice but to look at Liam. What he finds is a hint of a smile that graces Liam’s features, warm and inviting than it should be for last minute plans. Zayn could probably chalk it up to the fact that Liam got laid last night, but he fears that reducing it down to something so petulant would take away from their underlying conversation.

Which, honestly, that underlying conversation has yet to really be defined, something Zayn knows he’s been toeing at the moment he decided on calling Liam last night. There’s a certainty that it won’t be labeled right now, but that doesn’t stop the heavy weight of the problem from making itself at home in the back of his mind.

“Zayn, if you need me for anything, all you have to do is ask.”

A simple enough statement, yes, and something briefly plagues Zayn, that maybe Liam’s using this to his advantage, Zayn lonely and in need, Liam there and willing to give. But he’s not some desperate housewife, and Zayn’s not as stupid as people would have him believe. Liam might’ve not been in his life for very long, and even if he was twisting Zayn over, he feels like he’d be an adequate judge in knowing the span of Liam’s thoughts at their authenticity.

For the first time, Zayn notices a shift in everything having to do with Liam. He’s still the same, sure, but there’s worry written within the brown of his eyes, as if Zayn actually might mean something other than a late night fuck. Instead of freaking out about it, though, Zayn categorizes it, mentally stores it away. It’s not as if he’d dangle it over Liam’s head or use the vulnerability to his advantage, but something between them shifts in the air, and it’s difficult to pinpoint exactly what that is. Zayn wants it memorized; he wants the feeling of Liam’s thumb stroking his cheek to forever be engraved, the feather-light touch something he remembers when he’s older and God knows where in life.

Truly, it’s as if Liam’s looking at him, not through him, and as cliché as that is, and as much as Zayn might be a fool for realizing the blatant difference between their hookups and this moment right now, he doesn’t care.

Zayn knows love, and he knows the care that comes with it, and whether his heart stops abruptly for a split second is too much for him. The thought is there and gone, like a flash of lightening, and both he and Liam might know intimacy, but he refuses to believe that there’s anything more between them.

It’s not a four letter word, but Zayn definitely gets a glimpse of what it could be like, with the small gestures, and the continuous treatment as if Zayn is truly above Liam in every sense possible.

He turns out of Liam’s grasp and gives a nod before he’s sliding out of the chair, ignoring the rest of his food while completely missing the stoic look that slides over Liam’s face, a matter of self-preservation. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Thank you.” Again it goes silent, and while Zayn had the intention of leaving, he realizes that that’s still an issue.

Though, his pensive thoughts must reflect well enough because Liam’s moving around the kitchen to grab his phone. “Right. I’ll just-” He holds it up as if that’ll make his intentions clear while Zayn gives an appreciative smile.

It only takes a moment for Liam to send a text, considering he doesn’t press it to his ear, but he does sweep his hand in the direction of the front door before adding, “Give it ten, and the car will be here.”

While Zayn continues to stay silent, he awkwardly shuffles towards the front door, not really knowing what to do with himself. There’s the clatter of plates being placed in the sink and the swift sound of movement behind him before Liam, who looks more scatterbrained than just a few seconds ago, eventually joins him. “Do you want me to walk you down?”

And maybe that’s why Liam’s looking at Zayn like that because he could’ve easily let himself out and done the obvious morning after walk of shame back to his awaiting ride. So, in a fit of trying to ease the tension, because that’s certainly what’s grown between them now that Zayn hadn’t been too coherent to wake up and leave last night, Zayn settles for twisting the handle on the door and tipping his head in some kind of weird gesture of thanks because how the hell is he supposed to leave after everything?

What he does find, however, is that it’s easier to come up with justifications and apologies because apparently Zayn has a thick skull and none of Liam’s words have actively processed, but the simple, “It won’t happen again,” is something he promises when it slips off his tongue. He doesn’t even wait for a proper response either because that might settle them into a bit of an augmentative match, where Zayn, in all honesty, would end up being too stubborn and less prideful than one should be.

Zayn slips through the door, thinks he’s faintly heard Liam calling his name as he continues his walk, refusing to look back. The car is waiting for him outside just like Liam said it would be, and the moment he gets in, the only thing on his mind is home, and work, and how to avoid both Harry and his sister when the inevitable questions of where he disappeared to so late at night come crashing down around him.

+

Broken promises usually lead to sorrow.

Then again, it wasn’t like either of them expected Zayn to keep his word.

His resolve is low, and tension is high, but Zayn finds a remedy with that in the form of Liam’s bed. It’d been comfortable the first night, and it just so happens to be that way every time Zayn’s invited over.

To put it lightly, he doesn’t mean for this to happen, but it does. Then he swears he won’t cross that line again when morning comes and the walk of shame is left to be followed through.

But again, it happens.

And again.

And again.

Routine is something Zayn is used to, but not in the form of late-night kisses and wearing clothes that smell exactly like Liam. He’s tip-toeing a thorough line, is still paid for his services rendered (well, enough to afford more than the local value menu, at least), but the extra warmth in bed when he falls asleep truly has no price. That’s what sets Zayn’s heart in a constant flutter.

Of course, this wasn’t anything planned, per se, and Zayn’s not entirely sure how they’ve stumbled into this mess. But really, all he knows is that it’s consistent, and he’s done the exact opposite of what he swore he shouldn’t be doing.

Zayn’s mostly comfortable in Liam’s house at this point. He glides through the rooms with ease as if he lives here, knows where each door leads, where to find the bathrooms, and the linen closet (across from the laundry room, easier to put away clean towels and other unused, washable items). Zayn can pinpoint where to find a flashlight, or even the exact place Liam keeps his toothpaste. The underwear drawer might be an exception (bedroom closet, in a dresser, third shelf from the floor), but that’s mostly because Zayn’s found that Liam actually has a habit of not folding his things and placing them back where they belong.

But all in all, it feels quite normal, though maybe (read: definitely) shouldn’t be. It’s much easier waving himself off with a scoff and a shake of his head, acting as if he truly knows what he’s doing when it’s clear as day that Zayn actually doesn’t. What doesn’t help in the matter, is the fact that Liam is an instigator and doesn’t condemn either of their actions. In fact, Zayn would definitely be the first to lay blame in the palm of Liam’s hand since he _invites_ Zayn to come over.

Zayn follows, though, and that speaks for itself, really.

(“It’s easier if you come over.”

“To your flat?” is what he asks because that’s a highly unusual request for Liam to be making.

Liam laughs down the other end of the line, so wistful and rather unworried with what this could mean. “Would you rather go elsewhere?”

Truthfully, no because while it’s rather seedy to sleep in the boss’ office, and while it’s fun being sneaky in public places, or whatever hotel Liam’s found them for the night, nothing beats privacy and the distinct air of Liam taking a different approach to their business. When he’s not dressed up, pristine and polished, he’s as casual as they get, the lack of effort clear across his features.

But it works, is the thing. Going to Liam’s is much easier, less demanding, more fun and free.

Who could say no to that?

“Not really,” Zayn denies easily enough. “I’ll be there soon.”)

It’s a slippery slope, but Zayn isn’t making a fuss because even out of all of this, with the money, and the fact that Liam takes proper care of him just like he said he would, it’s the feeling that something has changed, has become rather invariable, and it should make Zayn’s stomach twist and knot together. It should send him into a spiral of questioning his choices, but it’s so much easier to ignore truth, like a snap of the fingers and it all disappears. Zayn’s not forced to stare in the mirror, and the actions are condoned, so why not take advantage?

That already sounds like a slip in character, but he’s resolute, and lying to himself is so much easier anyway.

Denial is not just a river in Egypt.

+

The moment Zayn falls back onto his bed, it’s the exact point he realizes just how much he’s missed it. Sure, he’s a good several years here, familiarity at its finest, but with early mornings and even later nights (ie. Liam and his ability to keep Zayn up far longer than he should be; too old for a bedroom, but too young to be skipping out on sleep), his back aches; his feet hurt, and Zayn feels like he could sleep for a month.

However, with today’s events, he still needs to shower, wash the grime away from working so long, and then whether he chooses to eat or not will be up to his stomach and its level of hunger. Food sounds appealing, but Zayn thinks that the warmth of his bed sounds (and even feels) better.

He’s got a later shift tomorrow, which will contribute to him finally being able to sleep in. They’re supposed to hire someone new at the shop, give Zayn a bit of a break. And while the idea sounds more than appealing so Zayn’s not running around, messing with stock, and helping customers out because they’ve left him all alone, part of him will miss it. Believe it or not, it busies his mind, helps with the paycheck, too, and overall, Zayn’s not quite sure what he’s going to do with just the extra few hours knocked off his hectic shift schedule.

Either way, it’s something to think about later. For now, Zayn thinks it's best to go ahead and find some clean clothes, preferably some pajamas or just some trackies. He’s not going to complain. Maybe he’ll do some laundry, too, while he’s at it. The night is his, and Zayn’s not used to having free hands.

So, he gathers his things and prepares himself to take it easy, but it seems like that’s not meant to happen any time soon because before Zayn knows it, Veronica’s a whirlwind. She’s shuffling through the front door, nearly out of breath, and Zayn quickly steps back into his room because it’s always good to avoid her when she gets off work.

Yet, here’s the thing, Zayn groans because she’s supposed to be working a late shift, and while Harry’s here doing god knows what, Zayn figured he could avoid the litany of questions Veronica most assuredly has for him: the main one being why the fuck he stepped out of the flat at such an ungodly hour some time ago. Even if Veronica had fallen asleep, it’d been clear as day that Zayn wasn’t there the following morning. Honestly, Zayn should’ve known better, did know better, but he went against his lackluster judgment.

And shit, that’s definitely a line of thought he’d been trying to avoid. Seeing Liam just after the whole ordeal (and then, well, _many_ times after it, too) hadn’t been awkward, and well, Zayn’s known to leave well enough alone. That night isn’t discussed in so much depth, and most of their company is spent in bed rather than in deep discussion because even if Zayn’s been promoted to resident booty call, it’s still simple, still easy.

Though, he does push aside the nagging thought of _but you spend all your time at his house, Zayn_. _That means something, doesn’t it?_

Because it doesn’t, not really, and either way, it’s not like Zayn gives himself long enough to sit and think about it anyway.

But with Veronica here, Zayn's cornered because he hadn’t been quick or smart enough to avoid her presence; it’s going to make it a lot more difficult to avoid it all, to avoid her questions, and his thoughts. Zayn quickly debates on either a) locking himself in his room, or b) locking himself in the bathroom. It’ll buy time for a plan of action, though it’s too late.

In the middle of his scheming, Veronica easily shuffles into Zayn’s room, effectively startling him. She doesn’t look pleased, and it’s safe to assume that Zayn’s not all that pleased either given that he can see the sparkle in her eye and the underlying tone of _try and test me; see what’ll happen_.

Zayn does take her in though, how she’s got her apron tied around her waist, the pale blue of the dress she’s wearing underneath that contrasts nicely against her skin tone. It’s what she works in, and while she’s complained about it before, Zayn’s always been kind and withheld his teasing.

There’s a clearing of the throat that ends up grabbing at Zayn’s attention, the bright smile she sends his way a very clear indication that all is not well no matter how happy she seems. Veronica leans against the threshold of the bedroom door while Zayn can’t help but stay silent and wait for the inevitable to happen. What that is, precisely, he’s not sure, but what Zayn does know is that he looks like a right idiot, clothes balled up in his hands while he waits for what feels like a scolding.

It’s only silence for now, and the seconds tick by, and Harry’s laugh can be heard from somewhere down the hall. Zayn wishes he would come out from wherever he is, break up the slowly growing tension so Zayn can make a hasty escape, but yeah, that’s not happening.

“Mum’s not happy with you,” is the first thing Veronica says. No greeting, no asking how his day had gone.

It’s an unexpected question, is what it is because Zayn had figured he’d be interrogated first and foremost before either of his parents would’ve been brought into a conversation. But he allows himself to breathe because this might not turn out as badly as he thought. It does, however, put him in a bit of a predicament given that there is no true telling in which way this is going to lead.

Zayn narrows his eyes at her, trying to fix her with a stare and see if she might crack. But then again, it’s Veronica; his twin, and she knows as much about him as he does about her. “Yeah? What for this time?”

“She’s asking about the money, Zayn.”

He avoids groaning. This topic isn’t any better actually because it still centers on the very thing he’d been wanting to avoid. So, in an attempt to actually do something with himself so he’s not so restless, Zayn carefully lays down his clothes and proceeds to nicely fold them up. He also takes a look around his room, sees if there’s anything he could tidy up because keeping himself busy is a guaranteed way of distraction.

Then again, Zayn grimaces because there’s not much left to pick up. He hasn’t been here, and it’s quite obvious. Hopefully it’s not something Veronica’s taken note of. She’d just add it to the list of very fishy things her brother has now decided to become a part of.

“Oh? Thought you were taking care of that.” The counter argument is weak. As much as Zayn promised her that there wasn’t a need for her to take on any extra shifts, she’d only given him a bewildered look when he’d proposed the drawbacks. And in all honesty, he hadn’t exactly been discreet about all of that, had he? He’d handed over the notes to Veronica to send to his parents knowing he couldn’t lie to them for shit. His mother would’ve had him figured out by now, and it’s much easier passing off the burden onto someone else. Particularly Veronica because she’s every bit as smart as Zayn knows she can be, secretive, beautiful, cunning. He’s seen her turn men into putty at her feet.

“I have been,” Veronica defends. “But when you keep handing over paper like that- Zayn.”

He folds his shirt carefully, spreads it out on the bed and tucks the sleeves into the middle and avoids Veronica as long as he can. It just so happens that his sister grows restless, too, because before Zayn knows it, Veronica’s on the other side of the bed, opposite him, grabbing his shirt and balling it up in her hands like the evil twin Zayn always knew she was.

Zayn avoids pouting about it because he’s not a child (and he knows how serious this is, even if he can’t muster up the ability to truly acknowledge it), and that’s mainly because his sister is huffy and a little sarcastic in her stance. Zayn has no doubt that she’d simply reply with a quick quip.

Though, she doesn’t, and instead her head tilts like she’s caught on to something else, and before Zayn knows it, she’s asking, “What’s that?”

Veronica doesn’t point at anything, so Zayn’s left to kind of oddly stare around the place, trying to pinpoint exactly what the hell has grabbed her attention. But then she is, and she’s pointing at Zayn, and that’s the moment he feels his heart is in his throat. “It’s nothing,” he says as he quickly slaps his hand over his neck, cursing under his breath because holy hell, yeah, this just got a lot worse than he imagined.

There’s a blooming love bite right underneath Zayn’s jaw, spreading down onto the highpoint of his neck. And it’s not as if he’s refused to cover it up, but he’s managed to avoid Veronica and figured by the time he actually had a conversation with her again, it’d be less noticeable. Maybe he should’ve just taken Harry’s word for it since he’d been the one to make it obvious and tease him senseless for it.

Nonetheless, Zayn frowns and shifts awkwardly while Veronica rounds the bed. She’s discarded the shirt somewhere; it doesn’t matter now, especially as she practically smacks his hand away from his neck, fingers curling around his chin before forcing his head to the side so she can take a better look.

Zayn manages to slip out of her grasps within a few seconds, but he doesn’t go very far because what’s done is done, and now his head just hurts.

“That doesn’t look like a nothing to me.”

She’s unreadable at this point, and Zayn refuses to look or actually be guilty, but it’s possible that it happens regardless given that Veronica doesn’t turn away from him. She sets her beady little brown eyes on him with an arch in her brow. Zayn swears she look so much like their mother for a moment, it’s uncanny. “Don’t worry about it, V.”

Her gaze is still fixed upon him, though, and Zayn eventually comes to the quick realization that he’s probably not going to get out of this without spilling something. It’s just a matter of how much he’s willing to give that’s the problem. There’s only so much Zayn wants to expose. Hell, he’s still trying to figure things out for himself, and adding the strong opinion of someone like his bloody sister into this daft mix of unruly decisions might not be the best idea. For now, at least.

Still, she’s standing there like a statue, and Zayn thinks this is the moment a bead of sweat is supposed to drip down his face just like in films. He doesn’t feel anything like that, but his hands are clammy, and so he starts off with something simple like, “Just kind of seeing someone.”

And that’s both a lie, and the truth, if he’s honest. His words suggest that maybe he’s veering towards a relationship type status, but that’s far from fact.

Veronica, however, glances around the room for a moment, takes everything in like she’s processing the words until she comes back with, “Is that why you haven’t been here lately?”

Zayn shrugs because that’s all he can do; if Veronica wants the truth, she’s going to have to pull his teeth to get it.

“Is this why Harry’s been rather reluctant when it comes to you?” she presses on. “He’s a terrible liar; a wonderful distraction, too, but he’s not here now, so.”

Again, Zayn’s averse, and he tries to slide by his sister and maybe hope to put some kind of distance between them, but then there’s a hand wrapped around his wrist. Veronica’s pulling him back, and while he expects her to be harsh and demanding, her features are rather soft, and a pang of contempt washes over himself for being partially afraid. It might not necessarily be the judgment he’s running away from, but the picking apart of his decisions, the knowledge that Veronica might very well disapprove of his actions although he himself feels like it’s worth it in the end.

“Are you in trouble?” Veronica murmurs, voice low without the standard accusations. “Because if that’s the case-”

He gives a half-hearted smile and shakes his head. “No, V. It’s nothing like that.” Though he looks away, he still feels the pull of Veronica’s hand, bringing his gaze to hers. Zayn swallows, finger grazing over his jaw as he scratches at it just to have some of his nerves bleed away. “Would it be too much to ask you to leave it alone?”

Veronica’s hair is a rather soft, rich, dark brown. It falls effortlessly against her face, the length past her shoulders. But she brushes a strand behind her ear, and there’s confusion written in between her brows because what Zayn is asking for is trust, and that’s more than unfair for either of them.

“You can’t say something like that and then expect me not to worry.”

Sighing, Zayn gathers himself before taking a seat on the bed. He doesn’t drag Veronica down with him; she’ll follow if she sees fit. “M’not in trouble. It’s not exactly-” and then he shrugs awkwardly and picks at the string on his jeans, where his knees show from the holes he’s got in them, “serious, I guess.”

Although Veronica still hasn’t joined him, he can tell that she’s growing antsy with him being reluctant. So, he does tug at her wrist, grabs her attention before she’s huffing at him. “I don’t like it,” she admits with a headshake. “Dunno what’s up, but it’s something. Too much secrecy, and you never leave me out of this kinda shit-”

“It’s easier if I do, V,” Zayn interrupts, wishing she wasn’t standing over him like this. It makes him feel small, and like he’s on the receiving end of a lecture even though that’s kind of what’s going on anyway. “You wouldn’t be happy with me if you knew. Mum wouldn’t be happy with me.” The last bit is only a little louder than a whisper and hadn’t meant for Veronica to zero in on anything other than leaving Zayn alone.

But as often as Zayn is quiet, there are moments he forgets, and truthfully, they’re in a small room with just the two of them, and Zayn’s already feeling his mood shift. So, it’s got to be the only excuse he can come up with, and the feeling that he’s not bothered by it now, really makes him wonder where the fuck his head is in all of this. No, he doesn’t want Veronica to find out, of course not. He’s spent so long avoiding it, only letting Harry in despite his friend's lack of stealth on delicate, secretive manners.

Then again, it’d open a door to be honest, one where there’s a wide possibility of Veronica living with Zayn’s choices. Yet, that still brings about the entire discussion of Zayn avoiding it in the first place. If he so much as trusted Veronica with this to begin with, he wouldn’t’ve felt it necessary to keep it to himself.

And really, Zayn just frowns at his predicament because it’s not exactly a life or death kind of situation (at least, thank God that’s not how it turned out). It’s rather simple, and he’s being indecisive.

So, Zayn stands up, and while he nearly catches Veronica off guard, he straightens his shoulders and says, “It’s to help us out, Veronica, yeah? It’s not the most brilliant decision I’ve come up with, but it’s something.”

Puzzled is how she looks then, the knitting of her brow, the way her mouth thins. The gears are turning in her head, and Zayn can see it clear as day because Veronica’s the kind to be quite expressive when she gives herself the chance. It’s something Zayn admires, her ability to go out into the world and actually make it while he feels like he suffers from lack of pride in himself. Which, isn’t always a good thing to have, but Zayn recognizes this discourse at play, how easy it is to shrink in on himself. He’s bright; he’ll give himself that much, but Veronica shines, and Zayn knows that once she’s begun piecing things together, her questions won’t just end up severe, but she’ll hack away until she’s satisfied.

“The money,” she starts. “Now this bullshit,” the gesturing to the mark on his neck, “Harry being a right twat with me.”

“Like, I wouldn’t be the first to call it dirty money but-”

“ _Zayn_.”

And that’s it. That one word, the one tone Veronica uses to get under his skin. He’d sink into the floor if that was an option because there’s no going back from here. Zayn bites his bottom lip and avoids trying to do so harshly. Adding blood to the mix wouldn’t get him out of this if he tried, nor would it make anything better.

Veronica nudges him back to reality, and he quickly forgives himself for spacing out. But when he watches his sister, it’s like he can see the dots align, and she’s scared of even voicing it aloud. “What, exactly, are you trying to say to me?”

It’s an effort to rub the tension out of his face by rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands and squeezing them shut so bursts of color are all he sees. But he opens them again, and Zayn’s shoulders sag, and if he looks defeated, well, that fault is his own. “I think we both know.”

It’s not what she wants to hear, either because it’s not a concrete answer, or because what he’s saying confirms her suspicions. Even then, it’s not as if Zayn really knows that she knows, but when you pair up secretly seeing someone and a load of cash, what else is to be presumed?

“Please tell me,” she starts, and there’s a hint of a smile on her face as if she’s trying to find humor in the situation, wanting to laugh it off rather than deal with inflamed fury, “that’s it’s not what I’m thinking, yeah?”

There’s a twitch by her eye, and her jaw flexes, and the building momentum is clear as day, and Zayn just wants it all over with. “It’s not as shady as it sounds, I promise,” he gives, as if that might make it better. But it doesn’t because Veronica just smiles wider like it’s all okay. “And Harry only knows because someone needed to. Not as if anything would happen to me-”

“You _stupid_ fool,” Veronica snarls, the flash of anger quite evident now that it’s replaced her mocking humor. “Look, I don’t give a shit who you sleep with, right. But something like this?”

Zayn’s seen a lot of things, been through a lot of things with his twin, but this probably takes the cake. He can already see the cracks along their relationship forming, and the thing is, he’s not even mad at her. There’s some kind of resolution in all of this, the matter of her not understanding as clear as day. And sure, he could give her time, hope that maybe in a matter of days, or weeks, or whenever, she’ll come around and she’ll simply understand, but this moment is not it, and Zayn refuses to soothe her because it’s only right that she expresses her disappointment.

Or maybe Zayn’s just looking for confirmation of what he’s always known. He’s spent so long trying to reaffirm his decision. It’s easy enough to stand-alone and have that kind of confidence, but it’s easy for someone else to come along and tear it all down. It’s also something else going into a situation knowingly and being forced into it, and because Zayn had his own choices and his own will, well, that’s another part of the problem for Veronica, he’s sure.

The simple fact that Zayn would sell himself short doesn’t sit well with Veronica, and the way she’s glaring at him right now is proof enough. “And if they found out, Zayn?” she pressures. “Sleeping around for money, for fuck’s sake.”

Zayn quickly shakes his head, knows he needs to level out the facts so Veronica doesn’t start running away with ideas she can’t come back from. “It’s not like that,” he replies quickly enough, takes Veronica’s by the hand and silently asks her to trust him. “It’s not that bad, V. And it’s only one person; I promise.”

She snorts and gives a cynical smile. “Like that makes a difference-”

“It does,” Zayn contends. “It’s a better situation than some people have, and look,” and at this point he pulls her down onto the bed with him, situates himself so that he’s facing her properly, “we need it, yeah? You can’t tell me the extra money hasn’t helped out.”

There’s a struggle for words, certainly. Veronica gapes and tries to find something coherent to say, and Zayn would almost beg her to, but she snaps her mouth shut at the last minute.

“You can be mad at me,” Zayn gives, “but it’s working, and I’m going to keep doing it. At least until we’ve got enough-”

“Enough,” Veronica snickers around a half-assed smirk and a tight jaw line that clenches from anger. “When is enough actually enough? You’ve got some kind of amount in mind before you cut yourself off, or is this going to lead to some kind of twisted relationship where you end up addicted?”

He squeezes her hand in partial retaliation for her words, but Zayn fights down the annoyance. “It’s not like I’m selling drugs, or even relying on ‘em. Don’t be so harsh.”

“That’s not what I meant.” But she doesn’t elaborate, and Zayn doesn’t ask because now it’s bitterness, and it’s definitely not going well as it should be.

Even still, the silence stretches on regardless of there still being so much left unsaid. Zayn knows he’s got a million and one argument under his tongue, can slip that right into the palpable tension. But he doesn’t, not only for his sake but for Veronica’s. The need to continue is fierce, and his nerves feel frayed and strung out, played like bows on a string.

Zayn’s not sure how to fix this, and even though he could say he could stop, he won’t. He might go on to ignore her concern of growing comfortable, something Zayn might have to wean himself off of because it’s only human nature to grow attached to things liked. But Zayn knows what he signed up for, doesn’t he? Told himself why he got himself into this situation, refuses to acknowledge the things that have lead up to this moment, and just the other night, and all the times that have previously followed, that if he so much as spoke, it might actually confirm Veronica’s fears.

Because Zayn’s not going to let it turn into that (though he’s pushing down fucking guilt at the moment because his recent house-stays completely say otherwise), and neither would Liam because he’s not the type to settle down, not with someone like Zayn, at least. It’s not even a thought that had crossed his mind, an annoying sidepiece that won’t let up. God, Zayn doesn’t want that for himself, and really, it’s easier dealing with this on his own.

People tend to rip off band aids and reveal open wounds, and Zayn needs to advocate why he’d started it all because it’s the real reason he’s here in the first place. “I don’t think I can give you all the answers,” he starts. “And I don’t know what’s going to happen with this, but if it means that you don’t have to work, and if it means mum is going to be okay without having baba work and stress himself out-” Zayn cuts himself off as his voice cracks because yeah, that’s why. That was the initial reason, and he’d tried being so nonchalant about it, but Veronica’s words seep back into his mind. Their reality isn’t certain; his mother’s future isn’t certain, and damnit if Zayn’s going to let that go. “You know how he’d be if he lost her, Veronica.”

There are tears in the corner of his eyes, and he blinks them away because he can’t face his sister as he continues on, with his voice spiraling down to a falter. Because no, Zayn hasn’t found love in his life, and he’s still quite young and has the world ahead of him, but his parents do give him hope; they matter, and _they’re his parents_. Sure, they deserve the word, and what he’s doing probably isn’t the most ethical, but it makes sense. It makes perfect, logical sense to him, and the fact that Veronica would pose him as a problem for trying, hurts more than he can imagine.

He might be twisted in thought; fine if that’s the way she, or anyone else wants to see it, but Zayn’s learned a valuable lesson when it comes to life, and that’s the fact that sometimes it’s easier falling into things he never would’ve dreamed of in order to survive.

And he _is_ surviving. He’s breathing, eating, sleeping with a roof over his head, and the knowledge that his parents and younger sisters are safe.

That Veronica’s safe.

 _That matters_.

“Death is inevitable,” her voice rings out, harsh but vulnerable like she’s trying to accept the truth. Maybe he’s gotten to her, or maybe the silence has finally tackled and displayed what Zayn’s really doing, but Veronica doesn’t sound confident anymore.

She sounds just as broken as he does, actually, and instead of being angry, Zayn laughs something watery. “Yet we’re all trying to beat the clock, aren’t we?”

There is no reply after that, not from either sibling. But Zayn doesn’t expect one to come, especially as Veronica leaves him alone after that. She doesn’t even look at him as she exits his room, and whether she’s gone to cry or gone to calm down from harsh, underlying facts, Zayn doesn’t really know.

All he knows is that she’ll be upset with him for some time, and that hopefully one of these days she’ll forgive him, at the very least.

Or maybe it’s not even that, really. Maybe it’s Veronica’s hope that Zayn will forgive himself.

+

He never thought he’d miss the smell of wet paint, with it dried and cracked across his hands, various colors stained under his fingernails. All of it means he’s been working, and Zayn appreciates the splotches of color that dot his arms. He hasn’t looked into a mirror, hasn’t even bothered to see if his shirt is covered in paint, but if anything, it’s probably marked, too.

Regardless, he enjoys it so much better. It brings back memories of being young and treated with a cheap watercolor palette that used to come with those cheap coloring books. Zayn remembers it clearly, keeping the colors clean, working to stay in the lines with a tongue between his lips and concentrated eyes.

He’d always hated when the water turned muddy and the bright colors eventually faded into a dull brown that reminded him of dirt. The plastic brush would eventually fall apart after a time, long before he could soil every single page, forced to use crayons for the rest of it.

He’s careful, even now as he digs into the pot, the same expression, the same pensive look so concentrated in trying to achieve a masterpiece. Well, it’s certainly not that, but Zayn hasn’t finger painted in quite some time, hasn’t had the time nor the room to participate in such activities.

Until now, that is.

Zayn smears the red across the canvas. He thinks he knows what he’s going for, at least he knew in the beginning.

There’s a potted plant that sits on the windowsill, a gift from Harry who thought it’d be perfect to brighten up the place aside from all the white walls. Zayn hasn’t gotten around to figuring out what he wants to do with that, let alone knowing if he’s even allowed to. If anything, he’ll hang paper up to graffiti the hell out of it, further paint the off-white textured tree. The wall won’t crack from useless toxins, but rather act as a line of stability.

He tilts his head for a moment, glancing between his canvas and the plant before frowning. It looks like shit, and while he’s always figured he’s never had much skill within art (not like his baba, at least), Zayn had always figured he was decent.

Turns out that liking something doesn’t necessarily mean there’s ever a chance to have any talent with it.

But practice makes perfect, right? And it’s been such a long time. Zayn concentrates on his piece and the fact that the sun has decided to grant him waves of light. It filters through the room, makes it seem wider than it actually is, makes Zayn feel less alone in such a little place like this. It’s cosy, but empty, and aside from his own conditioned breathing, the plant is the only other thing who shares the tranquil thought of living.

Maybe that’s where the inspiration has struck, or maybe Zayn’s just trying to piece together a plausible excuse for his shitty art. There’s always some twisted form behind the work, a detailed reason for it existing, and Zayn can’t very well show this off without giving a cracked smile and whispered words of raging intellect when really, he’s just using standard english and crossed fingers in hopes that he sounds like he knows what he’s doing.

He doesn’t.

Of course he fucking doesn’t because if he did, Zayn wouldn’t be sitting alone, forced to figure out himself in the midst of a free afternoon, drawing a god damn green plant he knows won’t live to see next week.

He’s fine, really. Truly, he is. He set out to prove something, and maybe the silence has beat his thoughts dry. As much attention as he’s giving to his canvas, he pays just as much to the lingering thoughts of Veronica’s slithering words and the cynical point of view life has recently given him.

Zayn’s got choices. He’s made them, and while he’s not stuck in a hole in the ground, he can already feel the dirt caving in, his feet stuck in place while he claws for something solid to hoist himself up.

It’s easier to tell himself that he’s okay, that it’s all going to be okay. And it will be it. It is. But only to a certain extent; and again, Zayn’s got choices. He’s made them, too, but what he thought he was doing correctly doesn’t seem all too smart after all.

Because Zayn didn’t take into account the fact that in the process of helping family, he could lose them.

And call him over dramatic and late on processing petty arguments, but good intentions don’t equate to compassion, and he’d be a fool to turn a blind eye to Veronica’s silent requests. Because she is, like it or not, requesting Zayn to rethink his choices. Even if she doesn’t understand, and Zayn’s in the midst of trying to make her see, he knows there will always be a plea against her lips and waves of it within the depths of her eyes.

Zayn wants so badly for the ends to meet, for it to all loop together, come full circle, for the curves to be straightened, and the path to clear. Maybe he’s overthinking things.

Or maybe he’s too busy with the ins and outs of all his problems that he can’t see clearly anymore.

Whatever it is, Zayn just knows he needs to get a grip. He doesn’t know what happened to the man who used to be stable and determined, but he thinks that maybe some of his old projections have withered away into something deep and vulnerable, a place Zayn has never discovered within himself.

They say people have many layers about themselves, and Zayn’s not sure if he likes each ring he keeps exposing.

+

Two hours is all Zayn is given before the silence is broken, and left to, once again, face the inevitable.

Only this time, it comes in the form of a best friend with green eyes and curly hair, who lacks impeccable timing and overall charm when it comes to reading people and the fact that not all words need to be spoken aloud. “I’m sorry Veronica found out.”

Zayn stares at the ceiling above him, and pretends like he hadn’t heard Harry entire his room. He’s comfy laying back on his bed, hands intertwined and resting against his stomach. It’s a form of relaxation, but he doesn’t stop the resounding snort that follows Harry’s _tsks_ of disapproval. Those words sound an awful lot like an apology sliding off the tongue, but Zayn knows better than that. It’s not as if his friend doesn’t mean it, but there’s the underlying issue of placating and feigning politeness just to swerve the dreaded half-assed conversation filler. “You’re not,” he simply disagrees without looking anywhere else but what’s above. “Just means I got caught, but it doesn’t change anything.”

Maybe the paint fumes have gone to his head. It’s a plausible excuse for his lack of reason lately, particularly with this subject.

“You’re really going to keep this up?”

Zayn shrugs from his spot, can’t really tell if Harry sees, though. He’s not actively trying to play passive, but it just so happens he’s also trying to keep from mentally berating himself and his well, supposedly good choices. “Not like I have any options.”

This time, Zayn’s the one rewarded with a scoff into the air, possibly received an eye roll, too. Yet, it’s still not enough to penetrate Zayn’s cloudy thoughts. “You always have a choice,” Harry reasons because that’s his nature, something that’s both helpful and positively annoying in the worst of times. “And while I’ve indulged you on this because I know you can take care of yourself,” he continues with the purse of his lip that suggests he might be lying to save face, but really, it’s careful calculations so Harry doesn’t get himself into hot water, “your sister’s involved now, and it might be best to quit.”

Empty. No, maybe frozen? That’s kind of how he feels, the muscles in his body locking into place, becoming rigid and uncomfortable at Harry’s suggestion. “Veronica doesn’t get to make that kind of decision,” he ends up going with, even if there is guilt sitting at the base of his spine. Swallowing the partial truth of Veronica’s words hadn’t been easy, and Zayn knows he’s tried to convince himself of doing right - and he still maintains that he is - but now he can feel the low thud of a pulse just at the temple of his head. It’s a growing headache, coupled with frustration over the fact that it’s easier to have people keep their mouth shut on mistakes than admit that there’s anything wrong at all.

Zayn knows enough about himself to admit that, to know that he got into this thing with Liam for the right reasons, and his justification is solid at best. But really, and it’s not as if he hadn’t considered it before, the opinions of those he cares about is now a weight he wishes would let him loose. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this moment would come, that Veronica would be the first to sink her claws into the words he used to convince himself that he needed this, that his family needed this. And while all of it holds its weight in gold, Veronica’s popped the bubble of Zayn believing he could continue without any peculiar interest within his conscience.

“As long as you’re okay, I suppose,” Harry tries to reason, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t sound the least bit confident in his words. Zayn wishes to remind him of his eagerness in the beginning, but that might just drudge up false support because it was the easiest thing to do. Harry’s not necessarily a yes man, but he does sway when someone has their mind made up.

And to put it simply, well, Zayn had his mind made up.

Zayn sits there for a while longer, the shuffling of Harry’s feet lets him know that he’s made his way out, the light trill of his voice carrying a note or two as he makes himself scarce. There’s nothing left for Zayn to do but roll over onto his side, bury his face into a pillow and see if maybe he can fall asleep, maybe wish for his phone to light up with a incoming call or text.

Or pretend that maybe he wouldn’t have gotten himself into this kind of situation if life had given him a better deck of cards.

+

Because there's nothing better than a lazy day where nothing matters more than staying inside and wasting away time as if there's plenty of it. Zayn knows better than to be participating in such a thing, but he's not going to complain about it. Time off is such a precious deity and one should use those moments wisely. Which is why Zayn can't be bothered to do anything other than keep his face buried in the crook of Liam's neck, cheek pressed against the sharp lines of a shoulder. It brings tantalizing warmth that continuously lulls him into an easy doze.

With that, he's resting just on top of Liam, much like an indolent cat; the only difference - and the main cause for his lack of giving any fucks - is the fact that he may or may not be properly sitting on Liam's cock, waiting for the older man to give him a second of his time and finish what he started.

Though Zayn does stir with the soft and light jostle of movement from underneath him, Liam's fingers pressed into the skin around Zayn's hips. He keeps Zayn steady, keeps him still from fucking down and riding out his pleasure like he so desperately wants.

And that's what Liam does, the right bastard. He's more than _teasing_ Zayn at this point, asked him to be nice and sit in his lap, let Liam finish watching some rubbish game on teli, all the while keeping things interesting via gentle thrusts every now and again. It also meant withholding a proper orgasm, and Zayn would rut against Liam, too, if he could, but Liam's fingers are a damn reminder of why he hasn't done that yet, why he hasn't been able to take what he wants. His cock throbs in the meantime, hard and untouched between their bodies. A game, is how Liam played it off, one Zayn definitely participated in (especially since he's in his current position). "Keep my cock warm, baby," Liam's whisper in his ear undeniably not helping the excitement that'd run down his spine, Zayn already lubed up at that point and desperate for any kind of fucking.

Easily enough, Zayn agreed, and now he's frowning and mouthing at Liam's neck because it's been _ages_ , and it hurts something good. " _Liam_ ," he whines, though the noise of the game has Liam's attention instead. The slight tilt of his lips (a cocky smirk, if you asked Zayn) reads otherwise, but it doesn't seem to matter much. Within that, Zayn's voice cracks from being unused, the quiet hum of Liam's heart beating and the brush of gentle fingers through his hair haven't helped much in persuading matters.

He sounds like he's complaining, but Zayn knows it’s much more than that. His body feels wiry, tinged with nerves and anticipation that just won't go away. It's a level of excitement mixed with an adrenaline rush, something new, something _different_ that Zayn's not used to. It's mild in comparison, not as if Liam's extended his hand, showing Zayn more than he can chew. But it's fragile, like Liam's waiting patiently for Zayn to finally ask.

Maybe he'll step there soon, hazy thoughts of a red, swollen arse along with the lingering prints of a hand marking his skin. Zayn doesn't ask, can't seem to find the nerve to push that agenda yet, but he knows if he did, it'd be his for the taking. For now, however, it's small steps, and this is a nice one, something Zayn can tolerate and explore, behaving so nicely and patiently-

And Liam's fingers sweep across his skin, dance along the planes of his back, a rushing trill of _down, down, down_ before there's a simple nudge. He's left gasping, the extra intrusion not unwelcome, but Zayn’s already so full, and the slide of an extra digit between his cheeks and filling his hole is enough to leave him breathless.

There’s so much pent up between them, and Liam keeping him still along with his need to play curious (because Liam’s doing just that, swiping a finger around Zayn’s sensitive rim, where he’s stretched tight around Liam’s cock, thick and red) doesn’t help in the matter. His frayed nerves extend to every single one of his limbs, pulses of pleasure Zayn tries but fails to keep reigned in. The need to release such frustrations is a strong one, the image of painting flesh white with the tinted sound of a higher pitch emitted during release is, well, too much handle.

More than enticing, though, Zayn mewls when Liam suddenly removes his finger and particularly fucks up into Zayn. There’s that wanton desire to rut down and meet the move, but again, Liam’s hands are on Zayn, and there’s hardly any room to act on impulse. Liam does it again and again, until Zayn takes note of Liam’s pace and allows himself to be used. He’s waited long enough, and there’s not a chance in hell Zayn’s going to comment, doesn’t want to see Liam looking smug and holding him still any longer.

The sounds from the tv becomes muted, more than it had been before, a distant noise in the face of slapping skin and Zayn’s purring, sloppy kisses placed across Liam’s neck and to the underside of his jaw. There’s a gentle arm wrapped around Zayn by now, careful but strong, keeping him from riding too high up, reassuring that Liam’s cock won’t slip out. And then there’s the slide of fingers across Zayn’s back, heavy and warm as they trail across the expanse of skin, to the back of his neck like falling feathers. Liam seizes Zayn in a kiss at that moment, draws him up to connect their mouths before there’s a hand in his hair and a hard tug that elicits a filthy, unexpected moan, looped with a spark of pleasure straight down to his toes.

Zayn falls away from Liam after that with nothing more than trying to find his breath and closed eyes, lips till dangerously close, hot puffs of air against his cheek as Liam whispers, “Such a good boy, weren’t you, baby?”

Tufts of hair fall across Zayn’s forehead, though they catch the force of Liam’s movement and sway when Zayn bounces back. The action also prolongs the sensation of pleasure to his cock, it still caught between two sweat-slicked bodies; it’s pleasant friction, is what it is, not enough to end it all, but just there to get the point across.

Zayn finds his throat a simple kind of dry, the kind that hinders any coherent syllables from leaving. There’s also the fact that Zayn can’t bring himself to answer Liam when he pulls at Zayn’s hair again, exposing the long line of his neck as Zayn partially sits up. The angle in which Liam’s cock sits inside of him shift a great deal with Zayn running his hands atop Liam’s chest, curling the bud of his nails into the patches of chest hair and sun-tanned skin left offered. Usually, Zayn’s rather graceful in his movements, isn’t as much of a klutz like his friend, or even his sister, but he does fumble for a split second, Liam grasping his hips and working Zayn into more of a slow grind. Though, takes it gradually, shakes off his lack of movement from resting on Liam for so long.

But fuck if it’s not worth it because it is so _very_ worth it, staring down at Liam while he continues to jerk his hips. By now, Zayn’s in a better position to take control, but he doesn’t do it as much as he’d like, just shakes off his lack of movement from resting on Liam for so long while also accommodating the grip Liam has in his hair. It’s then that he gradually sets his own pace, tethers Liam down by lifting himself up, the slow drag of Liam’s cock nearly pulling out such a fantastic feeling.

And then he’s feeling so very full the moment he sits back down, Liam’s thickness doing wonders to open him up, Zayn’s thighs already giving way to the slow burn he’ll endure just to reach release. Very carefully, Zayn does it again, notices that Liam’s all but given up on moving, and when Zayn finally concentrates on something other than himself, he finds Liam blinking up at him with hazy eyes. The flush of Liam’s cheeks remind Zayn of summer, full of life and a tinge of red across the high points from the rays of light. Mussed hair, and lovely freckles that dot just the tops of Liam’s arms, he gives a lazy smile and watches as Liam blinks away the surprise resting between the rings of color. Zayn doesn’t know what that means exactly, knows it’s beautiful nonetheless as he tilts his head. He feels Liam’s grip fall away and settle for the sharp jut of his hips before he’s guiding Zayn carefully, a slow roll of his hips until Zayn understands what he’s asking for.

Zayn gives into that, allows Liam to guide him again as if maybe he’s got the answers of the world inked into the palms of his hands. How warm they are, the drag of a thumb across a tattoo, Zayn’s cock nestled between them, slightly bouncing, slapping against the small swell of Zayn’s lower tummy. The head is sticky, and it’s not very difficult to find pre-cum smeared across himself, but Zayn ignores it, doesn’t even ask Liam to take him in hand when his legs burn, eyes wild, and whole body feeling alive.

Letting go has never been something easy for Zayn, but right now, it comes without delay. Whether it’s out of selfishness or the fact that Liam gives way to various amounts of encouragement is left to be determined, but it’s not unwanted. This moment is one of the few where Zayn has felt more than relaxed, more than what he’s been given from Liam in the past.

Right now, Zayn doesn’t feel like he’s fucking for money. There’s not that dwindling sense of being a one-night-stand or thick fingers counting notes, careful calculations so that it’s not used unwisely. And maybe that’s the click of discernment, the tell-all, wide surprise that makes today a different kind of spectacle. Fine lines drawn in the sand, tiptoeing gestures, and warm smiles.

Like the one Liam’s giving him now, that makes Zayn’s heart stutter, makes him lose his rhythm for a moment or two because he’s caught off guard. His lungs deflate with the rushing need to let go of what’s in them, breathing it back in just to feel human normalcy.

Zayn leans over like he knows what he’s doing, balancing himself in an easy act of confidence that comes with framing Liam, hands planted firmly on either side of his head. And maybe it’s the way the light catches Zayn’s eye from the window, or the soft hair falling and framing his face, but Zayn knows he won’t forget the way Liam brushes the strands back behind his ear, renders his hips into motion before cradling Zayn to his chest.

Smatters of delicate, butterfly-like kisses are placed onto his cheeks, and the tingling sensation that Liam gives Zayn is far from restrained. Zayn nips and licks at skin because he feels mostly like mush, the steady pulse satisfaction gaining in momentum as far as he’s concerned. There’s a dip in his brow, pulled together with the low moan that takes over when Liam finally swivels his hips just right, fucks up into Zayn where his cock easily brushes over the bundle of nerves inside of him.

And it’s not as if that wasn’t the case before, but once Zayn curls his fingers around the older man’s bicep, it’s more than just a hint given. “Taking my cock so well,” is what Zayn hears a moment later, just a light hum of words he concentrates on. There’s no use in doing much else except for nod against Liam’s shoulder, tongue still thick and heavy inside his mouth. “Fuck, you’re so good for daddy.”

Zayn refrains from snickering out of embarrassment, though the heat travels straight to his cheeks. He’s already flustered as it is, but it aids in another full flush and a rather quiet whimper of affection that Liam never fails to make him feel. Words, however, seem to be caught in Zayn’s throat, and it’s not until he notices Liam sliding his hand down his back, fingers dipping down into the crack of his arse and massaging at his stretched hole, does Zayn bite his teeth into his lip. Whether he draws blood or not, is the most least important thing because it’s not as if Liam lets up, giving Zayn a moment to take account of his nonexistent injuries. No, Liam doesn’t just press inside, but he moves along with his cock and continues to encourage Zayn to make the ends meets.

He finally ruts down against Liam, not only drawing pleasure from Liam and his prick, but he goes for steady friction, refuses to wiggle his hand between them and touch himself. Instead, it’s as if Liam’s given him permission to go in any direction he wants to go in, and of course Zayn easily laps that up.

Drawing in a sharp breath, gives no pause to his actions. He's so close, he can nearly taste it, and Liam pounding into him doesn’t help in the matter. Like once before, all loose-limbed and lazy, Zayn can’t help it when he goes lax on top of Liam, tension seeping out of his bones, his muscles, the freeing feeling of letting go finally taking hold as if he’d been too pent up to even consider reaching for his high in the first place.

All of this makes him loose-lipped, toes curling and grip gaining traction as he tries to find something to hang on to. “Oh _god_ , I-” Zayn says amidst trying to remember how to function properly, has to gasp for air and moan out a desperate, “ _daddy_ ,” before he’s sobbing into Liam’s shoulder. His hair sticks to his skin from sweat, mostly to his forehead and falling to the wayside, though Zayn does feel a quick brush of fingers as if dusting dirt away. The action does nothing to cool him down, really, but it’s an excuse for Liam, apparently, with Zayn feeling a knuckle just under his chin, pulling his head up so Liam can look at him properly.

However, that smile from before is ever present, just a little lazier, a little more open and honest. Zayn doesn’t know what to do with it but stare with equal parts admiration and wonder. It’s not as if he’s even seeing Liam for the first time, but his plush lips are a nice shade of red, slightly puffy from their kisses and maybe the signs of teeth making a home between the lines. Really, all Zayn can gather is that if Liam looks this fucked out, he can only imagine what he looks like, especially draped across a warm body, cradled with care and a particular amount of affection that Liam’s not necessarily given him before.

Whether it’s safe to say his heart leaps into his throat is a whole other story and not something Zayn admits to wanting to explore. But for the moment, he pushes it aside and focuses on the fact that there’s a thumb pressed to the corner of his lips, the tender rub as if Liam’s memorizing the look and feel. It’s a startling assumption, but then there’s a curl at the corner of Liam’s lip, undiluted and something to preserve like a bed of flowers just beginning to gloom. The cause of wonder still lingers, but Liam continues with, “C’mon, Zayn,” as if he can will things by his voice alone.

Zayn’s nostrils flare, the slow burn of his pulse rising, growing gratification within his tummy. It feels like a swirl of butterflies and nicks of happiness sowed into one. “M’gonna,” is the fumbled reply, tossed around haphazardly with jerky movements and a sensitive cock. It’s not yet finished, is the thing, but Zayn can’t get anything else out, especially when Liam finally reaches down and takes him in hand.

It’s rather unexpected, Zayn believes, jerking his hips and cock against a calloused hand. Every time he does it, he falls back onto Liam, no escape from the inevitable, but no arguing in between for something any different. Liam carefully works Zayn’s cock from tip to base, smearing slick pre-cum around and using that as a guide for more. “You look so beautiful, baby,” is such a simplistic response given, but each word is emphasized by an accommodating, rather hard thrust into Zayn’s ass. And even then, there’s no complaining, not as Zayn watches Liam’s tongue dart out of his mouth to lick his lips. The curl of his orgasm is approaching quite rapidly, and it seems like Liam knows it as he doesn’t let up.

And that’s what Zayn continues to expect, just the simple bouncing motion, the rutting, and two bodies covered in sweat on a couch that surely costs more than Zayn’s rent. Somewhere he thinks this is how it’ll go, with murmur and each whisper that trails long after Liam’s words.

Though just as Zayn’s about to give it all up without backing down, Zayn steals another quick glance at Liam, aiming to use such a perfect picture to advance his release and leave him sated. But that’s not how it goes necessarily, not when Liam’s careful with Zayn, not with the way he continues to jerk Zayn off and press his lips against Zayn’s temple as if that’s supposed to comfort him.

No, it’s the simple sentence of _so beautiful for daddy_ that catches Zayn off guard, a whispered expression all wrapped up with an array of fondness mixed with conviction, that has Zayn falling apart.

Liam’s name is on his lips, the choked _y-yes, fuck, Liam_ a delicate trill so resounding in an otherwise silent room. The telly no longer exists in the moment, no background cheering as someone scores a goal; the blazing sun shining through open windows isn’t even enough to throw them off. Zayn internally dances with fragile pleasure, cum leaking from the head of his cock. It assuredly stains Liam’s hands, his fingers coated as Zayn loses focus while rutting as much as he can against Liam. He rides out his high in an uneven activity, the encouraging, sweeping moans from Liam helping that as the older man greatly take to see him through.

Soon after that, it’s Liam who’s stuttering, Zayn rustling himself out of another doze enough to kiss Liam with as much strength as he can muster. Part of it is due to the fact that he’d rather not have a selfish bone in his body, while the other half wants to watch Liam fall apart as the other man had the privilege to do so with him.

Zayn cups Liam’s cheek, and while he’s careful of how vulnerable he is, he lets that go for what he deems is the greater good. “ _Leeyum_ ,” he whimpers, voice cracked amongst the complete aftershocks. “Fuck me, yeah?”

It’s as if Zayn knew Liam would take it slow from there on out, casually slip out of Zayn and work himself over on his own. It’s happened before, the guilt, a string of sorrys settling in his eyes without the ability to voice them aloud because Liam had dismissed him before. But Zayn’s not that kind of person today, and he kisses Liam something fierce when he sees the timid frustration in his brow, the parting of his lips as if he was going to protest.

Zayn lets Liam fuck him regardless, nibbling at Liam’s ear and sucking at the birthmark on his neck as if he’d like to keep it safe. Without words, it’s enough encouragement for Liam to curl his fingers into Zayn’s hips, keep him still while giving a few more thrusts until he’s spilling onto the condom. Zayn’s kind enough to let Liam ride out his high, too, common courtesy and all of that considering he’d been given the same entitlement.

Shortly after, the calm takes over the storm, with Liam slipping out of Zayn, the squelch of lube prominent, and the slight burn of being stretched open for quite some time ends up a new presence. Of course, Zayn’s not complaining, doesn’t even let Liam remove himself from the couch to clean up their mess. He’s too lazy, really, perched comfortable and sated beyond a shadow of a doubt.

From there, he keeps his hands close, tucked into his body but palm stretched out across Liam’s chest. The steady rhythm of his heart can be felt, though Zayn’s sure Liam isn’t aware of that. It probably doesn’t mean much except the fact that he participated in strenuous activities, but Zayn welcomes the increased flow of blood and the way his adrenaline is slowly beginning to die away.

He knows it will pass soon, that he’ll have to get up in a moment's notice, maybe shower and leave Liam to the rest of his day (because even if he’s invited over, and even if he’s made a little nest within Liam’s home, it certainly doesn’t mean he’s always welcome). But what surprises Zayn and the deep sigh, Liam’s head perched to the side as he gazes back at the television with interest. There’s no jealousy within that, but Zayn hums, fingers petting against cooling skin, already feeling heavy lids trying to close. Try as he might, he can’t seem to fight it off, and it’s easier said than done anyway.

Either way, it doesn’t seem to matter because it’s a losing game, and the fact that Liam casually throws an arm over Zayn’s lower half, keeps him close and doesn’t make a word of protest to the simple fact that Zayn’s nearly drifting off to sleep, well, it probably says _something_. Though, even if it did, it’s not like it’s Zayn’s first thought. To him, the telli becomes background noise, and he shifts his head down a little, gaining comfort in his position, legs tangled with Liam’s. For a time, he tries his best to keep up with the game, but fails in the long run because Liam doesn’t keep so still, drawing patterns into Zayn’s back, tracing the outline of his spine as if he’s trying to memorize it without any eyesight involved.

It’s a lull in conversation, and an inaudible plea of _stay_ , and even if Zayn doesn’t hear it, it’s there, written in what’s left of the silence they’ve gained together, intertwined by comforting limbs, and the fixed sound of Liam’s heart in Zayn’s ear as he finally gives in to sleep.

+

“Excuse me?”

“Just a request Mr. Malik. I’m only doing as I’m told.”

Well then. That’s certainly… surprising to say the least, probably less so to the woman standing before him. Zayn hadn’t meant to open his front door dressed in rags, just a ratty old t-shirt and some trackies. She looks professional, hair combed back, suit in place. The heels on her feet certainly make Mrs. Howell a little taller than Zayn, intimidating to say the least. It’s not at all comfortable having a complete stranger tell him to get ready to leave, nor is it all that great feeling like the prey of a carnivore ready to devour.

“Right now?” he asks, shuffles closer in nothing but socks so he can curve the door shut behind him a little more. Mrs. Howell looks kind enough, but Zayn can easily read her posture. Square shoulders and a defiant jaw definitely state that she’s trying to keep herself calm and collected, probably not used to the less than stellar living arrangements that some have known all their life. There’s a blatant contrast going on right now, and Zayn would feel proper embarrassed (does, to an extent) if he weren’t so focused on figuring out what the fuck she wants from him.

“Mr. Payne informed me you wouldn’t be busy.”

Which is the truth, and it’s not everyday that Zayn gets random people on his doorstep so he assumed as soon as he answered the hasty knock whom this pair of viable hands belonged to. However, there seems to be a catch, or maybe Zayn’s just skeptic, but either way, what she’s asking of him is to put his day aside for spending it in a stuffy car whilst making a few stops around town.

Pursing his lips, Zayn wonders what this woman knows and just how far she’s connected within Liam’s inner circle. Obviously he trusts her enough to be sending her out to a measly fuck’s house, but she must have a million questions on her mind.

Though, Zayn supposes, she’s not paid to ask them. Money tends to be quite the incentive; at least, Zayn would know that much.

“He couldn’t make it himself?” he wonders aloud, more to himself than truly expecting a response.

“Busy,” she proceeds, though her patience is wearing thin by the downturn of her mouth. “We’re meant to find you a new wardrobe, Mr. Malik. It seems you’ve been given permission for that. I don’t suppose we could get a move on?”

 _We don’t have all day_.

That’s written underneath the wave of her hand, a gesture towards the stairs she had to climb in order to get to his door. Zayn tries not to stare dumbfounded, so he nods and asks her to wait but a moment. From there, there’s no pause given, just an acknowledged acceptance of his requesting permission. “I’ll wait in the car then,” are her final words before she’s turning on her heels like a graceful dove about to take flight. Leaving Zayn with that, he closes the door with the sound of footsteps echoing behind him.

+

A surprise, that’s what it is. Just like, a random present Liam’s gifted him, to spend the day with Mr. Payne’s card and rack up a considerably nice bill. Zayn tried to argue, in the car, when they got out of the car, when he found out the first store on the list.

All of this is meant to be a bonus, really.

It should be satisfying, of course, but Mrs. Howell keeps giving Zayn a look like she knows he doesn’t belong, that whether he actually cooperates or not, she’s still getting paid. Still though, it’s not that there’s a lack of excitement or even curiosity, but this isn’t an everyday occurrence, is it now? An opportunity that resembles ambition and loyalty, if anything. So, Zayn knows better than to buy into a guilt trip frame of mind, but he’s standing just outside a store he’s reluctant to go into in practically hand-me-down clothes that still fit his body even after several years of use.

Zayn’s not insecure, per se; he’s just scared.

“They’re not going to bite, Mr. Malik.”

They probably look like an odd pair out on the street, people walking past Zayn like this is a normal occurrence. Although he suspects that someone might take note soon, and that it’s best to get a move on.

He’s the first to step in, his personal helper following just behind him (really, she’s one of Liam’s assistants, apparently out of many he has), and all he can think about is walking into the lion’s den. That’s enough to make him freeze, curious eyes of employees already at their attention until Zayn’s companion steps around him and crooks a brow. There’s no doubt she has something to say, probably wishes she could let the words slip off her tongue like fine wine, without a problem and easily managed. Yet, she refrains from doing so, though Zayn’s not sure if he can count that as a win; he’s incredulous about all of this enough as it is, and the way she stares at him makes him feel like she’ll burn holes right through his body.

She doesn't leave him, not like Zayn expected her to, but she does give him a nudge. Her silent intention for him goes unanswered when Zayn stays stilted and swallows down the sudden panic. It’s just a fucking store, is what he’s trying to tell himself, but the air is clean; the store is tidy, and Zayn knows that if he holds up a price tag, he’s going to find the that the cheapest thing in this joint is probably worth nearly half the rent on his flat.

“It’s at your disposal,” comes the soft tune of Mrs. Howell’s voice, though Zayn realizes that for her, this place is normal. She’s not intimidated, probably knows where to find the things she wants. Yet, she’s leaving Zayn to fend for himself, pick a department of the store and get to shop.

But something in Zayn makes him want to back out, the thought of being stared out, prodded and presented with more than his fair share is driving a line of guilt right through his brain. Signing up for this, well, it was intentional - getting in bed with Liam and all that jazz. Though, Zayn was just thankful for what Liam did give him. This, on the other hand, is probably normal in typical relationships like the one that Liam and he has, but it doesn’t mean it makes it okay or even all that satisfying.

Besides, what’s a shirt worth at the end of the day? Just pieces of fabric woven together that can be bought for much cheaper elsewhere.

Mrs. Howell finally seems to pick up on Zayn’s train of thought, or at least the way he’s being very critical of the situation. Something in her stance softens, her eyes not as tight around the edges, and her mouth for away from the pinched line it’d been set in.

It’s the first time she’s looking at Zayn as an equal, as the way Liam regards him sometimes. It should bring a sense of peace, but instead it brings along the idea of further discrepancy between them.

“Come along, Mr. Malik,” she eventually says, laying a guiding hand on his back so he’ll follow her. “Let’s make you good as new.”

Avoiding her tight smile, Zayn bites at the inside of his cheek and allows himself to be carried away with the hopes that maybe he’ll come out of this with more confidence, or at least, with a little more respect from the people around him.

+

If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s to avoid the price tag. He made the mistake of checking a pair of trousers in the dressing room and nearly had a heart attack. Never mind the fact that he’s probably too young for that anyway (despite that being up for debate in regard to his lack of choice of living healthy), but he’d taken extra precaution not to jostle the clothes too much, too afraid that maybe they’d catch on something, and he’d be liable for damages.

He’s being overly cautious, probably more than he needs to be because the sales employee helping them is kind (though Zayn suspects it’s because they’ve already accumulated a pile of clothes that’ll be wrapped up and placed into bags as soon as it’s all paid for). They’re all at Mrs. Howell’s disposal, really; she’s the one that directs them to clothes, assesses Zayn as if he’s no choice.

It’s only after that that he has a chance to look in the mirror.

Currently, they’re in YSL, or at least he thinks so. They’ve gone to quite a few places already, spent more or less, here or there, tried to determine a style. All of it’s very rough around the edges, at least according to Zayn and his hesitancy to point at something and know that that’s all he really has to do, and it’s potentially his if he likes it well enough.

He’s fitted into a sweater and just a black pair of jeans at the moment. Nothing too fancy, really, and he’s opened up the past couple of hours, has found his voice though his contrition holds strong. Whether it’ll fade away like the sun during dusk, sweeping the colors back down into the sky until it’s painted midnight blue, Zayn’s not so sure.

He pets at his clothing of choice, stands before three mirrors as he takes in the delicate fabric wrapped around his body. It’s not the first time in the day that’s Zayn’s gotten the chance to study himself, but this is the only moment he’s had to himself without Mrs. Howell around. Where she’s run off to, Zayn’s not sure, had excused herself for a moment before leaving him alone with a store employee.

Said worker is off to the side, casually keeping busy though Zayn knows they’re just waiting for his beck and call; however, he won’t give it to them yet. It’s a fine moment to breathe, assess the way the garment hugs his frame. The soft navy blue color doesn’t wash out the tan of Zayn’s skin tone, like a kiss from the sun, curves around his arms as if it was a gentle blanket. He fidgets with the ends though, the part clung around his waist, can’t help but notice that he reads differently here than whenever he’s at home using shoddy bathroom light and a less-than-stellar mirror.

As simple as it is to say, it honestly does look like Zayn’s been drowned in a cascade of wealth. Compared to the attire he came in, he can readily tell the differences, not just in style and context, but his overall appearance. It’s not as if he looks healthier, per se, a nice flush of color to his cheeks, a certain kind of glow. No, Zayn’s hair looks darker, falling around his face in simple strands that hold no product. His frame looks leaner than he’s used to, so much more defined, and he looks positively cleaned up. Do away with the rags and make way for a bit of value and the difference is stunning.

Zayn wouldn’t even call it a transformation really. It’s more like quality over quantity, and while it might be easier to say he doesn’t recognize himself with the change in air or the ridiculously priced wardrobe, he simply can’t say that. Staring back at himself only brings indecisiveness about the whole ordeal, the fact that he’ll be going home with a couple of new pieces.

Having to hide them from nosey family, particularly Veronica who would do more than her fair share of staring him down just to watch him walk away with guilt.

That’s a thing he hadn’t considered.

He refrains from rubbing a hand down his face, but it doesn’t last long, digs the pad of his thumbs into his eyes to ease away the growing headache from his thoughts rather than the bright lights from the store, cascading down upon him as if they’re prepared to cast away any and all shadows of doubt. For that moment, he glances down at himself, runs the palms of his hands over the black pair of jeans he has on, smoothing out the hem of the jumper just to see if maybe that will make him more presentable even though there’s no one here to impress.

And maybe it’s his sway of character that gets in the way of being able to pay attention to anything other than himself, so lost in the planes and definitions, or the simple curiosity of why thread costs so much, that Zayn doesn’t hear the approach of footsteps. To say the least, Zayn doesn’t feel crowded, and he acknowledges the fact that he still has a pile of clothes to get through, but the clearing of someone’s throat startles his ability to maneuver himself back into the dressing room.

How quickly he spins around should’ve caused him to lose his balance, maybe have himself topple over, but Zayn saves face by grounding his feet and swaying lightly until he settles upon a figure he hadn’t expected. “Liam?” Tilting his head curiously, Zayn resists the urge to break out into a smile, a gesture that he normally wouldn’t associate with the thought of the older man, let alone his very presence. “What are you doing here?”

Liam takes off the thick of his coat before handing it off to someone else. They take it gracefully and without an expected thank you, though Liam does give them one anyway. A grand smile is accompanied with it, too, and Zayn’s sure there’s a level of fondness written within the depths of his eyes, masked by curiosity, and maybe a little bit of an excitement he hasn’t felt thus far in his day.

“I haven’t been very accommodating, have I?” is the question that Zayn is left with, but it’s unusual no matter how he looks at it.

“Think that’s an overstatement,” Zayn disagrees, though he lifts a brow as a challenge, one because he knows Liam would certainly protest, but also two, the fact that they're in a public venue, and while confidence is probably well-respected, it leaves a sour taste in the mouth knowing that others could be privy to the current relationship at hand.

Not as if Liam showing up here and Zayn being the center of attention is not already drawing conclusions.

Liam ducks his head and looks quite abashed by Zayn’s modesty, hardly out of embarrassment or being prideful in his contributions. No, assuredly, Liam’s most likely bemoaning the fact that he still hasn’t done his part in his weird game they’ve got going on. Yet, it’s far from the truth, more than a stick’s throw away, if Zayn had any say in it.

Silence fills up the area instead, but it’s a gentle hum of something delicate and not overbearing. It’s not until Liam rounds the excellent setup of chairs that are clustered together, a sitting area for those less fortunate to watch a mini fashion show, and takes a seat that Zayn puts himself to use by explaining himself away. “Was just finishing up,” he exclaims quickly, as if maybe he’s already pushed his limit with time. Really, with no clock on the snow white walls, and Zayn left to fend for himself via Mrs. Howell, she’d been the one to give way to time and its management. “I’m sure it won’t be too long then?”

Jittery is how Zayn thinks he’s starting to feel around Liam more often than not, more so out of a need of approval than the thought of being done away with. It’s something new for Zayn to experience, that casual, underlying need to impress that he hadn’t necessarily had in the beginning of their agreement. He knew what this was, what this _is_ , but then again, things have been bouncing back and forth between them, that Zayn hates feeling like he’s reading into things.

Though, it’s not like he can ask, now is it? That’d be like pulling out the rug from underneath the both of them, and surely Zayn would be the only one left on the floor.

For now, he settles on turning his attention to what’s left of his clothing choices, immediately assessing what he does want to try on versus what he figures he can eliminate. And within that short timeframe of calculations, Liam gives a subtle point at Zayn (first believing he’s gesturing to something else) until he proceeds with, “Blue’s your color. Not red.”

And what an afterthought it is, at least it’s said like one, and Zayn can’t help making a face, contorted into confusion and half delight that maybe he doesn’t look so bad after all. Out of a monkey suit, away from laziness, and into something quite casual enough for everyday wear or even an event that’s semi-formal if necessary.

Still, though, it doesn’t make a lick of sense, what Liam said. Zayn’s not quite sure how that conclusion has been made, his ability to depict shades of color and what looks best on him had never been something to cross his mind. It’s not as if his wardrobe really consists of much color anyhow.

Yet, Liam’s giving him a look the clearly reads smug, as if he’s caught Zayn off guard (which he has) and intends to prove it. Though, he does nod like Zayn’s heard him correctly, affirmation at its finest.

“And what makes you say that?” Zayn questions, knowing his limits and when to proceed. This time, however, is probably a little bit different; seeking Liam’s input on a curious case of details isn’t an often enough occurrence. Whether Zayn should find that he might value that more than what he actually should, should bring about disconcertment. Instead, he aches for it in a twisted way, maybe out of dismay from the idea that Zayn might not belong after all.

Not that he’s set out to prove that actually, or even make a point, but that’s what Zayn finds himself wishing after. It’d be a shame to ignore that, and he’s not going to. What really happens from there is the fact that Liam offers a shrug of casualness, like he doesn’t want to give away his answer, drown in the exposure of why he said what he did in fear of ridicule despite looking quite confident with his words anyway. It’s close to being sheepish, just not quite there yet given that his posture retains a level of elegance befitting of class. Though, thinking of it that way, puzzles Zayn even more because it’s not as if Liam’s ever been scared to have his say so out in the open. Liam’s undeniably opinionated when he wants to be, soft spoken the next, yet taking great care to let his thoughts be known in favor of having everything out in the open. It’s in his nature to stand in front of issues, not behind them; so of course Zayn notices the sudden difference in the way Liam holds himself together like sticky glue, stature rigid yet flexible as if he might use an excuse to leave.

Currently, Liam’s rubbing the inside of his wrist and doing his best not to look at Zayn now, even though Zayn’s attention is already on him. However, and in the end, without any pressure from Zayn, Liam seems to take into account the fact that Zayn’s waiting, and a bullshit answer isn’t going to cut it. “That one shirt, the henley,” he tries, as if the color and make is meant to ring any bells. “You got it from my closet, thought that was the most fitting thing on you.” There’s no indication that he expects Zayn to remember, but the faraway look that crosses paths with the admitted truth explains that if anyone will have such a memory, it’s Liam. Not just from worldly recollections, but also from the setting of a mental image that seems to come to mind, with Liam’s eyes unfocused for nothing more than a split second, thinking back on a particular time he’s mentally saved.

Zayn doesn’t have a lack of reaction to that, even if he suspects that he should. Keeping his cool is probably best, but the trickle of heat crawls up his cheeks, blooms with color so vibrant he’s sure someone will call him out on his embarrassment. Even as he waits for it, the rough ache of surprise swimming in his heart, it never comes, not even when Zayn realizes that something he’s done has been accounted as memorable. Butterflies, maybe, swoop against his ribcage, down to his tummy, billowy creatures that ignite a faint spell of exasperation. Zayn shifts on his feet, stays in his spot, but uses it as a distraction even though he can’t help shuffling through a playlist of all his previous visitations with Liam. All of them stick out like sore thumbs, is the thing, all on a continuous loop no matter how much Zayn tries to beat down the flames. Even the more extreme ones that Zayn ought to know better than to categorize as passion, flicker behind the lids of his eyes, and it’s more or less of a struggle just trying to tame it. Falling into impulse and bodily functions isn't the most practical thing in a place like this.

“Suppose I was wrong, then. Red’s not your color,” Liam repeats, his voice pushing past Zayn’s senses so that it’s as clear as day. “It’s blue.”

It’s then that their eyes meet, and Zayn’s positively gone soft with his heart because Liam’s staring right back like he’s the only relevant picture with admiring. “Does that mean you want me to buy it?” As if Zayn could, as if he’s not staring at his source for money. But it’s the thought that counts, anyway, and even if Zayn didn’t favor it (which he does actually, not only because of Liam’s influence), he thinks it’s probably best to be mindful.

“Was just an observation,” the older man amends, seemingly aware of how his opinion has resonated with Zayn.

It’s his effort to backtrack that makes Zayn grin, a quick spin on his heel before he’s staring at the mirror he’d once been drawn away from. Only this time, as Zayn looks at himself, his posture is without slack, more refined and maybe upbeat. It’d be silly to blame it on newfound company, but Zayn can’t possibly think it’s less than worth it to show gratitude. Truly, he thinks of all the shopping bags in the car and the fact that maybe going for the _yes_ pile he’s accumulated is pushing it a bit. “Funny that, though-” is the start of a thought left off for a time while Zayn runs the palm of his hand down the fabric of his shirt, velvet and slick to the touch. Gradually, he smooths out the wide wrinkles it’d gained from him moving to greet Liam, and it's not until that’s finished does he decide to make light of his situation.

Mrs. Howell wouldn’t approve, but maybe Liam won’t mind so much.

Zayn rolls his shoulders before catching Liam’s eyes in the mirror. There’s optimism written between them somewhere, Zayn much more vibrant with color and texture, much more than the details of his clothing and human body. It comes as no shock to him, and he won’t ever really know if Liam feels that kind of static shift, but Zayn pulls back the corners of his mouth, reveals a nice, white smile before adding, “How about I get it in cream, too?”

Brows are raised at the question, but so out of extended interest than anything else. Even still, Zayn doesn’t back down with his whimsical response, not when it lies within much more than simple curiosity for Liam’s taste, but rather the unconcealed approval Zayn’s been swallowed in.

The follow up response isn’t just passionate silence, but Liam gathering himself to join Zayn by the mirror, hands sliding around his waist, cheek pressed just to the temple of his head. The soft creases by his eyes give away much more than Liam’s letting on, Zayn picking up before the slide of an award-winning smile. “You can get every bloody color if you want.”

Zayn snorts as if that’s even a possibility, though he should know better than that by now. Especially when he finds that Liam isn’t rolling over with laughter, as if he’d meant to throw Zayn off. Instead, there’s this dopey kind of look on his face, a certain swell of fondness like he’d actually go out of his way for Zayn if it came down to it, like he’d really follow through with whatever Zayn asked of him.

And this, by far, is an extension the likes of which Zayn’s never been exposed to. They’re only in a goddamn clothing store, to be exact, as if Liam would actually allow Zayn to go above and beyond his expectations.

But more than that, it sounds like a promise. One Zayn doesn’t know if he can be trusted with. One Zayn isn’t sure he holds the rights to.

After all, what does one do when they realize they practically have the world in the palm of their hand?

+

“For as much as you’ve been discussed, it’s a shame we’ve only met, what? Twice now?”

Zayn startles at the voice that seems to come out of nowhere, tightening his fingers around the railing just to give himself some balance. Despite looking out over the crowd, that doesn’t mean Zayn’s fear of heights has suddenly cured itself. Though, glancing to the right, Zayn finds a sharp man, posture slick with attitude, and a suit so black, it might actually match his heart. “Louis,” he greets cordially because it’s not as if he has anything against the man. In fact, he’d helped Zayn out of a rather unfortunate situation, and Liam’s not one to talk smack about his friend, let alone his business partner.

“Mhmm,” the other man hums around the taste of champagne, his glass nearly empty as he leans against the railing, too.

“Did Liam send you?” is Zayn’s blasé question, wonders where the man’s wandered off to anyway given Zayn hasn’t seen him in twenty minutes. Maybe that’s got something to do with his mood turning sour, or it could have to do with the uneasiness sitting in the pit of his stomach. It’s been there all night, and while Zayn’s tried to ignore it, it doesn’t seem to want to go away no matter how much alcohol he puts into his body and no matter how many conversations he has.

Still, with that said, it’s not as if Zayn’s made the rounds tonight. Liam hadn’t deemed it appropriate enough, said a press event wasn’t necessarily the place for them to display affection when there were trained eyes every which way, looking for the next big headlines.

(Because even if Zayn argued that tonight wasn’t about scandalous gossip, didn’t mean members of the press wouldn’t be looking for it).

It’s the reason Zayn’s out of sight, and most likely out of mind, in a room sections off from the main event, overlooking crowds of people overdressed as they chat. It’s different this time around from the other things Zayn’s been too, much more secluded, much more tight nit.

Which is why Louis’, “Something I’ll never understand,” gathers Zayn’s attention because it may very well lead to a proper explanation. “Truly at the top of his game, and yet he still feels the need to make connections.” Louis glances at him from out the corner of his eye, though there’s a half-smirk on his lips and a sparkle in his eye that indicates he’s not upset at the notion. Liam’s only playing smart by having people remember him. “I should know by now not to underestimate him, but he always catches me off guard. Just don’t tell him that.”

And again, he’s toasting to nothing before taking a sip leaving Zayn there to ponder the notion of Liam’s life. It’s not something they’ve delved into. Even with their current situation and the sidestepped firm lines, that’s one thing neither of them have discussed. Zayn doesn’t expect that to happen, if ever, really, but with Louis speaking briefly on such a subject, it brings up a curious question: who had Liam been in the past?

It’s quite relative, depends on who Zayn’s asking and what they might think of comparisons, but Zayn figures Louis’ sentiment isn’t coming out of nowhere. Whether Zayn should be skeptical of it or not, is a whole other question, but he knows the nagging sensation of prying sitting at the base of his skull. It’s an area he doesn’t need to enter into on his own, not without Liam’s guiding hand.

So, Zayn maintains himself, almost thinks that Louis looks slightly disappointed in the fact that Zayn’s curiosity hadn’t reared its ugly head, but it’s all for the better anyway. If Zayn’s purposefully trying to mind his own, certainly there are better things to entertain himself with. For instance, rather scuffing through many a thing such as what he doesn’t know, Zayn focuses back on his people-watching, wonders if there will ever be a moment in time where he’ll experience what it’s like to look at himself - the outside looking in.

Unpractical out of body experiences aside, and as conceited as it might be, Zayn knows he’ll always wonder. What do people think when they look at him? How does he read when he stands next to someone like Louis? Even, what does the older gentlemen think of him?

Is Zayn just an average boy, with average looks, and an average life? Or is there the resounding fear that comes along with identity, his background? Maybe someone like Louis sees someone who’s independent, or scared, or lonely, or just plain useful.

Or maybe there’s a lingering sadness written between the line of his lips and the slope of his nose, why Louis ignored competence to overlook his skepticism of Zayn being in Liam’s life.

Though, the point is, really, that Zayn, as much as he has his own questions regarding Liam and the opportunity to do as he pleases when the field is wide open, would rather know those things about himself, would like to understand how he comes across to others - to Louis - because hiding away in the shell of his own body is one thing. The world is something else entirely, and while both Liam and Zayn have kept it all a secret, and Zayn hadn’t expected much more than that understanding, by extension he wonders who else knows and how much of the scale is tipped to the side of understanding versus complete dismissal.

It’d always been difficult for Zayn to blend in, such a sour color of mood in an animated place, but he’s always taken that with stride. When he grins at these people - because it’s just another night on the town - and laughs at their stale jokes with the taste of wet wine on pink lips, it’s then he feels like he’s under a microscope. How well does he hide? How well do they read him under the lights of illusion and mere facade? If Zayn were to have a say so, his immediate thought would be _outcast_ , but that’s mostly due to a not-so-secretive secret hidden up his sleeve.

Which lies within the reasonable conclusion that Zayn’s positive he knows what people think about him.

Or rather, scratch that.

He knows what Liam thinks about him.

And that begs a particular kind of question, one Zayn turns his attention to rather quickly, if not for himself, but the determination of testing boundaries. “Are you here to feel me out?”

Might’ve not been the nicest way to put it, especially as Louis raises a brow and looks rather cheeky. “Think Liam’s done a pretty good job of that.”

Retaining his blush is not easy, but he does twist the palms of his hands over the black bar of the railing to ease it away as much as he can. “Hopefully he’s not too chatty.”

Louis snorts, and while Zayn expects him not to deny anything, he shrugs. “No, Liam’s not like that. I might push and drive him up the wall, but he never budges.”

Something within Louis’ tone holds sincerity, and even if Zayn didn’t believe him, it’d be difficult not to otherwise.

“But to answer your question,” is what comes next, Zayn almost having forgotten that he’d actually been the first to keep the conversation flowing, “would you be angry if I said yes?”

Zayn dwells over it, yes, but can’t find fault in the truth of that. After all, he’d asked the question, and so he should be prepared for honesty. Not as if someone like Louis, it seems, would be so tactful, but with more than a little alcohol in his system, Zayn’s betting he’s incredibly loose-lipped. “Suppose not. Did ask for it, though, yeah?”

Louis seems to want to respond to that, already having something on the edge of his tongue as he opens his mouth. But it’s unfortunately the worst timing possible when Zayn both feels and hears his phone go off in his pocket. Grimacing, he grapples for the device, pulling it out before hitting the mute button, though the screen does flash before it goes black and Zayn’s left with Louis once more.

 _Veronica_.

It’s easy to dismiss, though Louis looks like he’s about to interject and tell him to take care of his own matters if need be. Yet, Zayn waves him off instead despite the fact that his cell feels much heavier in his pocket than before.

“You’ve been one of the kinder ones,” Louis proceeds after it becomes clear that Zayn isn’t leaving anytime soon, not even to answer a call he probably should be taking.

Clenching his jaw seems to be easiest way to rid of the frustration, though he can’t help it given that he hasn’t spoken to his sister in days. Not that Zayn takes any comfort in the fact; it’s been such a long time since they’ve given one another the silent treatment, and each day that ticks on by feels like an extra weight added onto the pile he’s already accumulated.

Yet, part of it is his own damn fault, taking note of the little heat he feels inside and the devastating sourness that’s taken over the tone of his voice when he speaks about her with Harry. Zayn’s not worked any of that out yet, his emotions a clear indication of that fact. Plus, it’s easier sweeping it under the rug rather than dealing with it face to face any time soon.

“I’m always wary when it comes to Liam, can’t help the need to watch out for him.” The other gentleman polishes off his glass before he’s setting it aside on a tray that passes them by, a young woman in an evening dress with pretty red lipstick just doing her job. “You don’t seem like a threat, though.”

Which sounds positive, kind of. Zayn thinks he ought to take it as such, just means someone that Liam’s quite close to doesn’t think him anything worse than who he already is. And if anything, that’s already a won battle. “What makes you think that?” he asks anyway, as if he could actually play offended when that’s the least of his worries.

“You’re too taken.”

He’s slack-jawed after that, eyes about a fraction of an inch wider than before, so obvious to his feelings. Louis had hardly done anything at all, and yet here Zayn is completely caught off guard by such a sentiment. “That’s no- It’s _not_ like that-” is his relative defense, but the stuttering doesn’t help, makes him sound defeated the longer he tries to curve his mouth around competent syllables.

Though, it never comes out quite right, especially as Louis turns most of his body towards him, pressing his arm against the length of the railing while resting most of his upper body weight on it, too. “There’s nothing you could say to convince me otherwise.” And that seems true given Louis doesn’t retain the look of cynical joking. Hell, if anything, he looks sincere with every gesture that follows up to his declaration.

Zayn’s shoulders fall, though, like a reprimanded child waiting to be further scorned. Though he wonders if it’s even worth a weak excuse to explain himself, and the only thing he finds he can deal because there is no way he’s going to gain the upper hand now, is a simple, “You’ve implied that you hardly know me.” Because it’s true; Zayn doesn’t know Louis, and Louis does not know Zayn. They’ve heard about one another through common hearsay and good words (at least that’s what Zayn hopes for every second that ticks by). What kind of conclusion is Louis allowed to come to when they’ve hardly spent an hour together?

But the other gentleman seems to get the gist of what Zayn’s trying to say, even if Zayn’s counter is a meager attempt to lash out at a rather obvious, touchy subject. “Doesn’t mean I can’t make an observation,” Louis explains gently. “Standing here ever since he left, it’s like you lost a goddamn limb.”

It might not be the best comparison, especially judging by the look that Zayn sends Louis, but it does serve a purpose nonetheless. Despite the fact that Zayn feels it imperative to set Louis straight, that he really hasn’t caught feelings as one might suggest, Zayn also realizes that Louis doesn’t come off as angry. Zayn won’t take it as a complete sign, always wary of jumping to conclusions way too soon, but maybe it means something? Maybe it’s not approval, but it’s certainly not something dusted with hate either.

If anything, that should be a positive.

Zayn’s about to say as much, hopefully bring light to their conversation so it won’t end up too heavy in arms. Yet, he doesn’t get the chance to do so when his phone rings again, the vibration startling him until he pulls out the device and is left with a sour name on his tongue.

 _Veronica_.

At this point, it’s as if she’s purposefully going out of her way to annoy him. It wouldn’t be the first time Veronica’s played vicious, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes at her childlike tenacity. She usually only gets that way when provoked, and while part of him understands her anger, he feels like the proper thing to do would be to leave well enough alone until they’ve calmed down enough.

Though luck on that because as soon as the screen dies and the call goes to voicemail, there’s her name flashing again. He mutes it this time, finally learned to be smart, but there’s still drawn attention to him and what’s going on, figures there might be a relative frown on his face and a tight line featuring his lip.

Of course he ignores it. It’s the right thing to do in a place like this.

“If your attention is needed elsewhere-”

But Zayn shakes his head before Louis can even finish, putting his phone back into his pocket in hopes that if it _does_ ring again, it’ll be much easier to ignore, let alone draw less attention to himself. “Look,” he starts off pointedly because it’s easier to fill the silence and move on from interruptions that way, “I know this isn’t the most ideal situation, but I’m not betting on anything happening.”

Though Louis looks on confused, Zayn, for the first time, allows himself to open up to something quite intimate, something different that’s filled with tone and vulnerability, what he’s shoved down and denied. The thing is, it wasn’t like it wasn’t there anyway, wasn’t like this is the first time he’s acknowledging his grievances despite the fact that it feels that way. Rather all of this rests upon the fact that _something_ had to be there to begin with in order for Zayn to deny it because rebuttal with a side of defensiveness only comes with evidence and the need to completely shove down what shouldn’t be exposed.

And for the first time, god help him, Zayn’s finally allow himself to see that. It’s not a revelation; it’s not some newfound self-discovery, and of all the places, Zayn thinks this has got to be the worst that he allows himself to do that here. A press event is no place for mixed emotions, let alone getting cozy with a business man such as Louis who’s already strung him out to try. Maybe it’s the droplets of water soaking the ground that resembles Zayn’s emotional capacity; he had to hit full capacity at some point.

“Between Liam and myself, like-” he tries again, but it sound stifled regardless of how he tries to go about his. Even still, Zayn ducks his head, lets a few strands of hair fall out of place as if they’re impenetrable and won’t reveal the way he sucks down air like he can’t breathe, and the fact that Zayn blinks back something close to tears. “M’not an idiot, yeah? Might seem like it, young and naive, and maybe it was _stupid_ of me to even-” he laughs, cuts himself off and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand to hide the sneer within the lines of his mouth.

Louis snorts quite loudly, even looks a bit conscious of the sound before he’s brushing it off and shaking his head. “I’m the last person who’s going to come at you for shitty decisions, mate,” Louis explains with a shrug. His eyes shift between the crowd below them and Zayn, carefully and only when he’s grown bored of his view. “Not even my place to comment.”

Which should sound like a relief, should have Zayn’s lungs expanding and constricting normally, but instead it leaves him with the prickling of anxiety, the fact that Louis doesn’t feel the need to make a comment. His estimates on the relationship his friend and business partner is going through should matter to some extent, and while Zayn plays with the idea of loyalty, Louis’ already knocked Zayn on his knees. Therefore, he draws the conclusion that maybe Louis is only neutral for a reason, not because he can’t step on stones, but because he simply doesn’t care.

That sounds heartless, but Zayn suspects it’s because he’s laid back under the exterior of slacks and a well adjusted tie.

Zayn gives a grateful smile at that because it’s for the best; not pushing for what he wants yet doesn’t want is tricky, and as far as he’s concerned, he’s already crossed some lines. He can hardly afford to continue that trend despite the excellent dose of camaraderie. Though, it does leave them in silence again, the chattering of the crowd and the nice, most definitely expensive band playing in the corner of the room with instruments Zayn wouldn’t mind learning to play. He knows nothing of their sheets, or the names associated with each stroke of the strings, but it’s eloquent nonetheless, makes for an easier display of happiness and a cheerful get together.

How much longer this’ll go on is anyone’s guess, and because there’s a mutual respect amongst two men who might have not found common ground in any other situation, Zayn retreats from people watching and tries to find Liam. He hasn’t been able to spot the older man yet considering most of the men are dressed the same - suit and ties, black and white - and while Liam’s a particularly sore thumb, the angle is all wrong, and Zayn feels like he’s staring at moving chess pieces.

That is until Louis grabs his attention in less than a heartbeat when he accidentally bumps into Zayn, his elbow knocking into his side while he rights himself properly. Louis clears his throat, from what Zayn can see, even sends him a half-hearted smile for an apology, but that’s all he maintains while his eyes narrow. The tilt of his head becomes quite evident after that, same for the straight line of his mouth and the sudden rigidness of his shoulders, and while Zayn does go out of his way to say, “What is it?” while simultaneously searching for the nuisance that has disturbed a fellow man, Zayn doesn’t see anything noteworthy.

“Remember when I said you were a good egg?”

Zayn throws him a very puzzled look, but Louis doesn’t see because he’s still staring down into the crowd, hands shoved into his pockets and stance quite different than the ratio of alcohol intake he’s accumulated. “Not all of Liam’s conquests were much like yourself, Zayn,” Louis says artfully, as if he’s known Zayn all of his life, like he’s got credentials on his character. It’s weird, is what it is, the sudden shift. Maybe this is Louis’ effective side, correlating to Liam’s, a team of two that’ve conquered all that they were after.

It’s interesting seeing it in play, but Zayn doesn’t get the time to examine it for what it’s worth because Louis’ pulling back and giving Zayn the view he desires.

The first thing he notices is Liam at the bar, fluorescent, blue-hued lights shining over his figure and strategically illuminated him. Zayn would probably find humor in that if he didn’t take into account the fact that Liam’s not just by himself, but there’s another someone to his right, and they’re busy talking. Which is why Zayn thinks nothing of it, something in the air around him doesn’t feel quite right. With Louis standing by his side as rigid as can be, Zayn starts to connect some pieces of a much bigger puzzle he just hasn’t figured out yet.

It only takes seconds because that’s how it normally goes for Liam to laugh and take a sip of his drink, and something inside Zayn swarms, a proper fit deep within his belly. A smile is cast Liam’s way from the unknown stranger, quite young in comparison, and Zayn doesn't mean for his nostrils to flare or budding anger to find itself traveling through his veins.

But it’s there, sitting pretty while Louis takes a hold of his wrists and asks him to listen carefully. “We might’ve only met twice now,” he says very pointedly, drawing out his words so that Zayn is reading him very clearly, “but what I do know is that with you, there comes a level of class. You hold your own. Him, however,” and Louis pauses once again to gesture to the scene before them as if Zayn could’ve forgotten, “well, he’s one I consider very liable.”

Without asking and without much of a warning, Louis is turning on his heel and dragging Zayn along with him. Of course he follows, has nowhere else to go if he’s being honest, but the longer he doesn’t have a straight answer, the more worry that builds up.

Call him selfish, but that worry is reserved for him and no one else because if Louis deems this something important, it can only mean that they’re about to go interrupt a situation that Zayn’s not very confident he can actually obstruct. If this is anything like he thinks it is, then Zayn knows he ought to let it go. The simple _you’re not the only number_ ringing back between his ears, to the thick of his thoughts. Liam had told him otherwise, that he hadn’t strayed like he quipped in a moment of anger, but Zayn feels foolish now. Glancing back behind him, he’d erase his previous moment if he could, eat up the words he said that revealed himself so openly, how imprudent he’d been to his feelings.

Because there was no guarantee of anything other than a steady kind of paycheck - ethical or not - to provide for his family. That was promised, and Liam had made due, and it’s wholly unfair for Zayn to be in such a public place and feel something akin to betrayal squeezing the life out of his heart.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Zayn’s dug his heels into the ground as best as he could, forcing Louis to turn back and question what’s wrong with him. He can’t answer right away, and there’s a brief flash of annoyance within Louis’ blue eyes, but Zayn shakes his head all the while feeling torn. “We can’t just leave it?”

He makes no sense, which is clear by the fact that Louis looks at him like he’s mad, like he should already understand that something is _off_. Zayn doesn’t need- or maybe it’s that he doesn’t want a picture perfect explanation. In fact, he’d do well with letting the cards fall as they may regardless of whether he gets hurt or not.

But Louis seems to find an understanding of what Zayn’s thoughts are on the matter, and he rolls his eyes and leans in so that only Zayn can hear him. “I’ll be damned if that son of a bitch finds his way back into Liam’s lap.”

Hostile. It’s the only word that comes to mind when Zayn looks at Louis, his tone, the vibes he’s giving off. Zayn would be scared of him if he didn’t know that none of this is for him. “Why?” he asks measly, trying to claw for some common ground, that maybe Louis’ the one jumping to conclusions. “What’s wrong with that?”

But then again, that wouldn’t make a lick of sense considering Louis seems to know the man who’s found acquaintance with Zayn’s date tonight. More than anything, he’s putting of a messy situation, one he doesn’t want to be caught in the middle of. Screw his rapidly rising jealous thoughts that hold no bearing on Liam and his relationship. They weren’t designed that way, not from the beginning, and Zayn’s just tired of being too rational about this shit.

Apparently, however, Louis isn’t exhausted with this, gathering Zayn’s chin with the tips of his fingers and blinking away parts of himself that aim to be assertive. “Because you haven’t broken his heart,” Louis defines, only a moment's hesitation upon his breath before he overcomes that with a nod of his head. “And you haven’t emptied his wallet, Zayn. You make Liam happy, and that’s something I’ve got to protect.”

They’re only halfway down the stairs at this point, and even if there are people making their way past them, curious glances and less than humbled pride, Zayn feels less than embarrassed. Louis holds his own, and by extension, that means Zayn does as well even if he’s not completely feeling it at the moment. Although, he gives himself a moment to achieve that, ducking his head out of Louis grasp and focusing on the fact that maybe all is not as it seems.

That maybe somewhere deep down, Louis has given him a dash of hope and the words of encouragement to fix a situation he should already be trusting Liam with.

Suppose that’s not necessarily the case, though, given Louis’ less than cowardly smirk and dangerous eyes that indicates he’s out for blood. Certainly it won’t be so dramatic, but Zayn knows how Louis likes to cut a conversation short, especially when it comes to men keeping a safe distance from things they shouldn’t touch.

+

It’s like staring down a tunnel, really. Only this time, there is no bright, white light that brings hope. There are only flimsy decorations, ominous lighting of low lamps set around the corners of the room meant to give the place a relaxed atmosphere. Bottles of wine are stacked up in the corner of the room, one brush of a finger and it might all come down in a waterfall of glass and wasted liquid. And then there’s the length of the bar that glows like it’s straight out of the films, with its neon lights lighting the back bar, mistakenly reads like it’s out of a seedy joint instead of the sum of money that insisted otherwise.

Zayn thinks it’s all bullshit, and he wonders why he hadn’t stuck with his smarts from the very beginning. His decision to come along tonight, the drag of kisses along his neck that had been so persuasive, all down to the very moment Zayn agreed to the terms and conditions of an unsigned contract held accountable by words and favors.

The reason for this is partially his mood as it sinks slowly to the depths of the ocean, avoiding running into people who are in his way as he continues to follow Louis to their point of destination. His vision is aligned with fancy dresses and colored tuxedos, the lights that do shit for his eyes, and the bar. The goddamn bar that makes him see red rather than the soft, cool tones of blue and pink that reminds him of pastel skies and paintbrushes.

Though, he doesn’t mean to sound cynical, especially this early in the night, but he’s ignoring requests previously made, turns away from the stares with a curt nod of his head. Playing follower wasn’t something Zayn imagined he’d meant to take seriously, but while Louis’ back should give him confidence, it’s what’s over the man’s shoulder that makes Zayn reconsider his choices.

Because just over there in dainty lighting that smooths out harsh lines and rough features cast by greyed shadows, is Liam. Liam with a laugh tinged on the tip of his tongue, Liam with red-stained lips, and a suit that makes his shoulders broad, thicker in a way that Zayn would love to run his hands over.

That very Liam who is smiling at Zayn now, who radiates both happiness and a mix of something he can’t quite pinpoint. Though, it’s the first time Zayn questions whether it’s genuine or not. Looks are quite deceiving, and Zayn swears to the moon and back that Liam falters for a split second before it’s masked away by careful tales of old.

By the time Zayn takes this into account, it’s really too late to turn around; he made the decision to follow Louis, thought he could hold his own and do away with pesky memories that seem to haunt Liam. Especially as they hold most of the older man’s attention.

But as Zayn approaches, feels the slide of an arm around his waist that guides him eloquently to his side with a curious but rather humble look, he notes that it’s not appreciation or even a warm welcome. Not as if Zayn expected that, but maybe the dying hope in his chest says otherwise. Still, he retains himself because even if Liam hadn’t shown a lick of surprise at both Louis and Zayn’s sudden presence, it certainly doesn’t stop a complete stranger from taking on that extra feature. “Russell,” the man introduces.

And when he replies with, “Zayn,” as simply as can be, it’s with humility and eyes pulled down. Though, despite the polite introductory, where Zayn takes the extended hand offered and shakes it because he’s polite, he can’t help but feel the stare of a million suns burning down onto his body, with beady, brown eyes that slide from his figure to Liam’s and back again as if dear ol’ Russell is making careful calculations as to where he fits in considering he’s become the sole proprietor of a wishful heart.

Zayn doesn’t like the lingering looks and the way Liam tenses beside him for a split second, how Zayn grows uncomfortable instantly while simultaneously cursing Louis mentally for thinking Zayn had some kind of backbone to reassure a man that Liam was off limits. Ridiculous as that sounds, however, Zayn hides the efforts as well as he can because Louis is still in sight, and it’d be easier if he decided (more like Zayn’s counting on him) to play ringleader.

Of course, that doesn’t happen, at first. In fact, Zayn’s left to his own defenses when attention is drawn to him because it’s clear that both Liam and himself are an item, and Russell only seems like he wants to pay respect.

“Was just catching up with an old friend.” Which then encompasses a grand gesture to Liam, a flick of a wrist and a mega-watt smile that doesn’t seem to faze Zayn as much as it does Liam.

If the sudden tightness at the corner of his eyes seem to indicate anything at all.

“We hardly see one another now, unfortunately,” Russell continues, keeping Liam in his line of sight, though he does look very aware that Louis is near him, and Zayn is in view but not the intended target of sight. No, Zayn’s being reserved for words along with an ellipsis for implication.

And the thing is, it kinda works, that slow draw of agitated humor gathering with every beat of Zayn’s heart. Whether it’s meant to be bait - though the longer he stands there, he assumes as much - Zayn takes it regardless, the curl of his fingers into a fist with nails digging into his palm only adding fuel to a growing fire. “Wish Liam would’ve told me about you, then,” he adds, and there’s no denying the fact that Liam hardly spares a glance at him, though Zayn figures if he met those brown eyes, they’d be filled with something close to a request to keep to himself.

But Zayn’s not really here for that.

“Especially if you _were_ someone important.”

Immediately, and out of the corner of his eye, Zayn sees Louis duck his head, hands already shoved into his pocket. Given the situation, he retains his laughter, but his shoulders give the slightest bit of movement. Really, it’s all Zayn needs to know that he’s finding humor in this rather than mere pity.

Zayn didn’t necessary state what he did in order to feel smug, and he doesn’t to some extent. He does smile politely, and bumps his shoulder into Liam’s side, just cautiously and a reminder of what Liam seems to have forgotten.

“At one point, yes,” Russell agrees, the admission quite surprising. He doesn’t just stop there, though, and anyone else might give him credit for trying, but all it leads is to Zayn’s discomfort and wishful thinking that maybe Liam might step in sometime soon.

He doesn’t; not right now, and not within the moments to come. Zayn would call him a coward if he could, but it’s not even about that, is it? This is a firm establishment of what Zayn’s always known but had been unwilling to admit that he’d face to face the truth of it all, the very fact there were others before him, and certainly there will be others after, too. It’s not as if Zayn expected he was overly boring, per se, but even he thinks that maybe the time spent with Liam hadn’t been that long.

Even with that thought, it’s not as if Zayn had in mind that Liam would stray, so to speak, with a fellow like Russell. Even being old… friends, as they put it, really gave no reason to make stubborn ass assumptions like that, but the thought matters nonetheless. Because even if that’s not something that happens tonight, it could in the future, and Liam’s even reminded him of such.

Phone numbers. Those are quite important, and Zayn’s never been the only one on the list.

“Too bad this one here,” Russell’s gesturing to Liam again in a casual manner even if it’s easy to see the memories flash within the depths of his eyes, “couldn’t see that. Always hoped he’d make it up to me.”

If Zayn’s looking for traces of bitterness, well, all he can say is that he finds none whenever he looks at the man before him. Russell isn’t broken by his words, and while they do add to Zayn’s already open wound, all of this sounds rather nostalgic than something meant to do any real damage. Doesn’t mean it hasn’t, though, and Zayn tries to remind himself that Russell seems adequate, well adjusted enough to know his priorities and that Liam isn’t one of them. But even then, Zayn’s wary because jealousy isn’t green for nothing. That in itself clouds the vision, and it wouldn’t be wise to miss any red spilled from lack of rationality.

So Zayn clenches his jaw, maybe squares his shoulders without adding any further comments because his voice, at a time like this, would be unnecessary. As much as Russell had been replying to him, those words were meant to strike Liam more than they were anyone else.

Although, instead of them sitting around and waiting for someone to break the silence that’s ensued, because it seems as if Liam’s lost any ability to speak for himself (a growing concern, if Zayn ever knew one), an interruption breaks through in record time. Zayn would feel relaxed if the cautionary voice was anyone other than Louis, but they’re all making the best of it. “You never said you were back in town,” is the delicate statement given as cordially as possible.

Within this, Zayn notices the way Louis stands before all three of them, easy to see and blocking their path if any one of them were to excuse themselves. It makes for hesitation, even with the sharp downturn of Liam’s mouth, evident of the fact and none too pleased regardless of Louis’ attempt at a friendly tone.

(Really, though, it’s up for debate considering the tension in the air can be cut in half and then some, but Zayn’s not pushing his luck with too many conversations at once).

“Last minute plans,” Russell replies with a smile that overtakes any air of unreasonableness that might’ve pursued them in the aftermath of vulnerability. There’s no way any of them misses the way his eyes light up when he addresses Louis, like a jump at the prospect of keeping things interesting.

And even if it’s something Zayn’s not quite done processing, Russell’s previous words, it’s best to move the conversation along, knowing that dreams won’t come with sleep tonight, but with thoughts that will keep him restless instead.

“Didn’t think I’d run into the both of you, though,” once again addressing Liam, mostly, as if pushing the older man to speak since he hasn’t bothered in Zayn’s presence.

And that leaves lingering worry that Zayn’s fucked himself over by actually listening someone like Louis, a man he hardly knows but had found it in himself to trust. Zayn might’ve dampened Liam’s fun, but Zayn could argue it’d come from the wrong place anyway, something mildly inappropriate when Liam already had company for the night.

However, Russell continues, and as they all go along, it seems things pan out as necessary, true colors revealed and all. “This seems like it’s a bit beneath your status.”

Zayn doesn’t choke on his own spit, but he comes close to it, saving face by chewing on his lip while avoiding Liam’s sharp intake of breath. Even if the grip on his hip grows tight, Zayn keeps his cool, and refuses to acknowledge the sentiment given. His feelings don’t particularly matter; his posture and his ability to play poised will give him a head start in petty conversation, should it be the case that that’s what this all comes down to.

“Funny that. Didn’t think you’d make the guest list.”

And there it is, how Louis intends on saving the night with hard humor, expanding the overall tension. With the silence that sits heavy, and Zayn losing focus because of Louis’ audacity, it reads easy when Liam’s the one that startles and sends Louis a look of warning. Though, Zayn catches it first, how Louis shrugs like he’s none too bothered, like this is everyday banter that doesn’t faze him in the slightest.

On top of that, there’s Russell’s laughter that comes out of hiding, a cheerful grin with white teeth and a glint in his eyes that reads _two can play at that game_. “Always the charmer, Louis. Think I’ve missed that the most.”

Of course, there seems to be another quip on Louis tongue, but he’s interrupted before it can begin. It’s both a relief as much as it is discerning, Liam finally joining in at a moment's notice. Most likely realizing that he’s more the mediator than any of the other three here. “Be kind, Louis,” he demands. “Never liked the way you two were acquainted.”

“I’m sure you can remember there was a reason for that,” Louis quips, blue eyes sharp as they stare holes into the side of Liam’s face.

There’s absolutely no regard for Russell in his demeanor, and Zayn ducks his head because he’s got in the middle between the sunset and sunrise, that hazy color of confusion that leaves one breathless.

“Still as dramatic as ever, I see,” is what takes over the conversation, Russell seemingly kind enough, though that’s not the first distinction Zayn’s made about him thus far. Of course the other man’s on the defense because Louis’ not keeping his mistrust and dislike a secret, and it’s only natural to be on guard, especially since it seems like Russell is being ganged up on. “Must’ve really had it out for me, then. Although I don’t suppose that was a lesson meant to be learned,” and that’s when things shift, Zayn recognizing the bite in Russell’s tone immediately, like a wounded cat with sharp claws filled with spite. He remains composed, however, refuses to let his suit ruffle out of place, not a crease to be found in the white button down shirt just underneath the jacket. The dress shoes he has on are quite shiny with extra polish to complete the look, though bitterness isn’t the color of red tinting his cheeks.

He’s staring directly at Zayn, though it takes the young lad a moment to actually figure that the hard set of Russell’s eyes are meant to gain his attention. It does, of course, leaving Zayn’s heart pounding, head tilting just like so. He wonders what he looks like right now, a naive child ready to listen to the whims of someone he hardly knows, or does he play off as cautious but willing?

Still, there’s no answer in the midst, no one willing to give Zayn the depth of an answer so he can correct whatever vulnerability he might be giving off. But even then, it grows twice fold when Liam suddenly goes rigid next to him. Despite his unwillingness to cooperate, it seems like something’s finally squeezed his motivation hard enough to make a difference. The raspiness of Russell’s name on Liam’s tongue exceeds Zayn’s expectation, briefly drawing him away from Russell to the slow of Liam’s nose and the pinch of his brow that pulls them together. “You’ve said your peace.”

However, Russell looks none too pleased at Liam’s order, the curve of his lips an indication that he’s not going to listen, not by a long shot. Whatever spell Liam used to have over him, is clearly no longer effective because there’s a new light in his eyes, one so bright, it hardly dims the longer the silence ensues.

And it leaves Zayn to wonder an onslaught of thoughts, a quiet smile that could be left behind for a frown that wants to take over. It rings back to whether he’s telling, showing off how uncomfortable he is, wondering why he’s left to put up with what’s left of something messy, and whether this was Louis’ intention to scare Zayn off despite his words of loyalty. All of it sends a pang of hurt to Zayn’s heart regardless, feeling more or less trapped. He knew who he was on his own, knew who he was when Liam and him were together, having spent so much time with the older man at various events, an arm around his waist, guided gently and eloquently along the room while the habit of introducing Zayn had only taken their lying game up a notch.

But even out of all of those places, Zayn’s never seen Liam so hesitant for him to meet anyone, for him to keep a wall up so high, that Zayn’s so lost, he’s having to figure this out for himself. What stones he’s left to stand on slip out from underneath his feet so quickly, that muddy water dirties his ankles. It’s the past touching the present, and while Louis hadn’t given a straight up definition or label of whom Russell was, Zayn knows he can paint a clear enough picture. It might not be the cleanest, but it’s easier figuring out that there’s history sitting between two men, that it had meant something, and it’s affecting at least two involved.

Three, if Zayn were counting Louis, but friendships are a strong bond hardly broken unless absolute disaster strikes, and what Louis feels would make sense if the fallout of a relationship hadn’t been pleasant. Or maybe not even that; maybe there’s more than meets the eye, and it wasn’t just a breakup that lead to unresolved tension and heated emotions as per Liam’s reactions and his utter willingness to keep Zayn in the dark.

Not to mention, Zayn pays close attention to Russell through the silence, waiting for the next bridge to be burned. What’s written within the depths of deep colored eyes, how the man holds himself, how his mouth twitches like he’s looking for laughter instead of the aching need to cry, nearly has Zayn feeling sorry for him. Especially given the fact that Zayn knows nothing of whether Liam had been the one to drop him, or if Russell was the one to leave.

Whatever it may be, though, Zayn can tell that this direction wasn’t meant to be taken, that he was never meant to find out. It’s easy to say that no one had expected an ex to show up like he did, and Zayn’s presence is, in fact, more of a burden, and the honest-to-god truth for Liam, of what his life was like, what it is like, and what it will be in the future.

But then again, Zayn was never even meant to see that side of things. After all, it’s not as if what’s between Liam and Zayn are _real_ , now are they?

What a tough pill to swallow.

“And how long have the both of you been together?” Russell questions politely enough, but he’s looking at Zayn while he’s at it, like he expects this to be a conversation between them as if they’ve something in common.

“A few months,” he answers quickly because it’s best to get that out of the way, though Zayn licks his lips like he’s wetting the words off his flesh while trying to gather as much courage as he can in Liam’s wake.

There is no joy from Liam, and it’s not as if Zayn had expected that given the circumstance, but a haunted look, the way his jaw is tense like he knows Zayn is waiting for him to become readable, isn’t necessarily understandable. The lack of reassurance is astounding, how he’s frustrated and caught between both Zayn and Russell. And then there’s Zayn's tug of demand for answers regardless of it neither being the time or place to make cross-examinations that deep, it might leave scars. Listening rather than talking is what will get Zayn through because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to extend the offer of polite words when he’s beginning to recognize the severity of such a situation, that he’s caught in the middle of such an inconvenience.

Of course, and to say again, that wouldn’t be the case if Louis hadn’t pulled him along, though. And it’s clear that he’s the reason for the dissolved presence of happiness. What Zayn’s left to figure out aside from the truth, is what his place is, and it’s going to be a difficult thing to pinpoint and make note of because Zayn’s never found himself here before. Past co-workers and acquaintances are one thing, but past love is a whole other level. While Zayn could hold resentfulness for this, it’s not even Liam’s fault, is it? And even then, there’s now a million and one words gone unspoken between them. Liam may not be looking at him, and the weight of his hand might be firm on his hip, but for the first time Zayn’s left to question just what tonight is about, all from this remarkable, unplanned moment. Right now isn’t about exuberant performance from them both; they aren’t here to rub this in the face of Liam’s rivals like all those times before. It would make sense, hypothetically, using Zayn for that purpose now in a time that it should matter most.

Instead, what Zayn receives is the feeling of being pushed aside and ignored for a brief moment of intimacy with someone else. It being hostile in nature or stress inducing, well, Zayn doesn’t know how to handle that.

Steadily, Zayn breathes, wouldn’t want to give away the part of himself that is drowning in his own blood. Because truly, that’s how it feels. Their secret is like a scab Zayn refuses to pick, like an itch just underneath the surface of skin, afraid to draw blood and let it seep through the cut. It might stain the carpet, make a messy situation, and Zayn knows, literally knows he cannot afford that no matter the costs. He’s gotten in too deep - all of this proof, no matter how much he likes to argue with himself - and it doesn’t help that Zayn finally, finally draws the conclusion that Louis wasn’t willing to give him.

Zayn stares straight ahead, too, just like Liam, and he tries to keep a brave face on, not too smiley, not frowning either. And he examines what he knows: a suit that’s gray, and a tie that’s black. Hair combed and styled in a way that does scream class, a thing Zayn’s never exactly been able to accomplish from the day he met Liam.

(Because how foolish of him was it to play the wolf in sheep’s clothing?)

What he finds- What Zayn finds is a man who used to be in Zayn’s very position, someone who’d taken kindly to Liam’s favor, who’d hung off his arm while Liam had whispered things in his ear that were never the dictionary definition of business. It’d been a time full of wanton looks, the gentleness that Liam shows him now, directly given to another man that most likely couldn’t’ve been mistaken for more than what it was worth.

Because Zayn’s not worth more than this.

“I see,” Russell says, brandishing his words with allusiveness until he settles for the point he intended to make all along. “They get bored of you quickly, Zayn. Even if you think they won’t.”

Sick. Zayn feels sick to his stomach because it’s a statement he himself did not wish to hear. Like a throwaway doll, his time will come too soon, and then he’ll be on the receiving end of scrutiny, a former flame and a brand new young thing hanging off Liam’s arm.

It makes sense, and that’s the worst part of it all. It had always made sense from the very beginning.

There’s nothing he could say that would describe that slow-sinking realization, more than punch to the gut. The wind knocked out of Zayn’s lungs hurts, and he doesn’t know how to get any of it back. And through all of this, he holds Russell’s gaze because Liam won’t look at him, and Louis might look concerned, but he won’t offer a way for Zayn to breathe. Instead, Zayn’s left standing in the middle of a wade pool that continues to rise in temperature; he holds his demeanor because falling in front of someone who’d been just like him not too long ago is the last thing in the world Zayn wants for himself. If he looks smug, then the sentiment will only be returned because he’s naive for thinking he had any shot of making it out of here alive, without some kind of resulting wound formed from the truth. Yet, if Zayn shows anger, then it means he’s revealed that there is much more at stake here for him than there is for Liam. And if he decides to choose happiness for a grand gesture of agreement, it will question the very foundation of morality within his bones because how does one sit back and feel good when their partner (or lack there of) is distracted by a former love? When a man completely pulls the rug out from underneath Zayn’s feet?

“Russell-” is what Liam begins with, much more of a warning, both deadly and without subtly.

But Louis interrupts before Liam can do any damage. With a flick of his wrist, Louis smiles, the illusion of a tail curling like he’s ready to pounce. “Scaring him won’t do shit,” the man spits, even drawing the attention of a couple who passes by them. There’s no attention given to them, and Zayn looks on with guilt and a nod of the head like they’re fine, and they don’t need any help. “You seem to be forgetting who really caused any damage.”

In the midst of anger, Russell snorts, but Zayn’s not really paying attention anymore, not when he knows that there is no winning, and that this time, rather than laughter to soothe everything over, it’s the gentle nudge to his side. Zayn feels Liam’s eyes on him, finally worthy of proper attention, he supposes. Although, it seems like it’s just a mere question within brown eyes, asking whether he’s okay or not. Zayn would answer if he could do so properly without making a scene or drawing Russell’s attention back to himself, but he’d be lying about it anyway. Instead, Zayn shuffles into Liam’s side a little more, turns his body so that their sides are practically pressed together as a way of responding without spoken communication. The inclination to shy away is something fierce, but Zayn disregards it by settling into an exaggerated and deep sense of satisfaction that _should_ come along with the motion, but ultimately doesn’t.

In fact, if he could, Zayn would ask for something strong to help him through, a round of liquor, maybe even two.

A lull does not come in any part of the conversation after that, however. It seems Louis takes over for the two at war for different reasons. It leaves room for Zayn to grow distraught as a dying tree, with leaves breaking off, and branches reaching towards the green grass as if it might bleed life into the limbs. Gradually, his shoulders fall in defeat, show the weight he’s accumulated within a matter of minutes, and Zayn avoids Liam and his gentle caresses that are meant to draw his gaze, less of an apology and more an apt attempt in making sure Zayn’s not seething with anger. They do nothing for him right now, Liam’s touch burning holes through the fabric of his clothes. Really, Zayn just wants to cool down, find a bathroom and splash some cool water on his face, let the simmering heat of disagreement unfurl because it’s better having a level-head when he’s making a decision, whether he’s justified in his feelings or not.

Like a throwaway key when the locks are changed and no one answers the knocks on the door, Zayn hadn’t expected for it to come as a wake-up call. Not one so harsh and brutal. Then again, it’s reasonable enough to assume that reality is referred to as a bitch for a reason.

He’s done, though. Game over; it’s finished for tonight, and while it seems Louis is more than hospitable by keeping up a topic of conversation, Zayn has already lost interest by now. If either Louis or Liam had expected Zayn to be like a lion after given a bone to chew on, they were sorely mistaken, and after being dragged through the mud, well, there’s little else Zayn wants to put up with.

So, he looks around the room, and he eyes to bring his attention elsewhere, on more important matters that truly mean nothing. His name isn’t even on the list, and it’s a wonder if he could even get away with anything, preferably needing a chaperone or a wristband that claims v.i.p. Maybe he could saddle up to another man and offer his hand for a dance, maybe ease himself into a conversation before someone else buys him a drink.

Spiteful as he wishes he could be, none of it will come to fruition, but it’s a dreamer’s dream and wisher’s wish that keeps him hopeful. Though, it’s not any of those things that save him tonight. It seems the stars and the moon are on his side, a miracle left to save a torturous night, and a leg to stand on when Liam wouldn’t volunteer.

Zayn retrieves his phone from his pocket, the screen lit up in a way he’s all too familiar with at this point. And even if it comes across as particularly rude, Zayn counters it with the fact that there’d been less respect for him tonight, and two can play at that game.

Even still, Zayn’s more than grateful for the interruption.

Tense fingers curl around the phone, a bite to his lip before Zayn finds the courage to politely excuse himself from his audience, swift and quick so he doesn’t have to stick around to try and mend any relationships back together again. Though as he’s leaving, there are eyes on him, on his back, and Zayn can feel it like he’s a mark being targeted. On top of that, there’s an attempt from Liam, as soon as Zayn slides out of his arms, calling his name despite Zayn continuing his walk without a glance back because he’s pitiful and needs to feel some sort of satisfaction for being dragged through an unpleasant experience.

Even still, it’s not like he’s traded it in for something better. Veronica’s name still lights up his screen, and he’s just made it to the door of the lounge area before he’s answering it and holding the device up to his ear. “What’s going on?” he hisses into the phone as he finds a quiet corner to stand in, in a rented space with an expensive price tag for holding such a charismatic event. There aren’t that many occupants out here, not with the loud chatter of people filtering through the doors of the room he just exited, so Zayn doesn’t give too much thought to how his voice may very well carry.

“Thank god,” says the voice on the other end of the line, immediate and rather desperate.

“Veronica?” Because it’s easier gaining her attention and getting straight to the point despite the fact that as soon as he clears what he hopes is a brief annoyance up, Zayn’s going to have to face the music and return to the company he arrived with.

For now, he’ll take what he can get, go about this one step at a time. It’s definitely too much at once, too much in one night, and Zayn should’ve listened to his instincts the moment he arrived at the venue. It wasn’t like he believed in back luck necessarily, but uneasiness had settled in the moment Liam had left him alone by explaining that this was a place he’d most likely have to entertain himself with before Liam could probably join him.

Though, with that said, Zayn tries to tame his slowly boiling blood, rising anger, and bitter words. Truly, the audacity his sister has is quite stunning, and Zayn might’ve given her applause if it was appropriate. Regardless of saving graces, that doesn’t mean he isn’t mad at her, still. “What the hell could you possible want right now?”

He hears it clearly, the click of his sister’s tongue, her admonishing him for his cutthroat tone of voice. Veronica’s right in being pissy, too, but Zayn figured they could’ve waited until later to sort this out. “M’calling to tell you something important,” she says, and it’s the first time Zayn recognizes the lilt trapped in her throat. She sounds unsteady, almost uncertain of herself, and mostly Zayn would chalk it up to nerves if it weren’t for the slight sniffle that follows soon after. “So please don’t be an asshole right now.”

After that, Zayn sobers up by wiping away any anger left harbored. Instead, he refrains from pacing, no sense in that even if he feels like walking back and forth might alleviate some tension. Rather, he rests his back against the nearest wall and uses that for support because despite their lack of communication, Zayn would like to believe he’s not that much of a prick to hear his sister out, especially if it’s got her upset to the point of crying (though, he thinks, she’d never admit it). He might’ve found previous words distasteful to his ears, but to cut her out to the point where he wouldn’t be there for her if something went down, well, Zayn would more than regret it. “What’s going on?” he says softly, hoping the apology is clear enough between his lines while retreating on a litany of guesses as to why she’s actually calling.

There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he could admit what he _thinks_ this might be about, but doesn’t want to say it lest it come to fruition. It’s important to stay patient, especially until Veronica answers, going off of the brief change in her tone just moments ago. From that, he guesses that no more folds in her voice is an indication of a lack of a problem, though still, Zayn would rather play the guessing game until she’s ready to give in to concerns, hopes that everything’s fine nonetheless.

Though maybe he shouldn’t’ve been so optimistic.

“Not to panic, really,” Veronica continues, but honestly, that isn’t the proper way to start an exchange because that immediately throws Zayn off the moment she pauses. He even makes to interrupt, to ask her what the hell that’s supposed to mean, but then Veronica’s speaking over him, and Zayn’s forced to make do with what he’s being told. “But mum’s in the hospital, Zayn. Nothing serious, least that’s what they’re saying.”

It takes a moment for all of the air to leave his lungs, not as severe as a punch to the gut, but the heavy weight of not being able to properly breathe leaves Zayn feeling lightheaded and attempting to reach out for something to grasp onto even though there’s nothing there. It’s the second time tonight that this has happened, and Zayn wonders if his luck will turn around, or if he’ll be granted a third strike that’ll send him to an early grave. But he can’t voice that, not at a time like this because that would be selfish, and there are more important things at stake than Zayn’s jealousy and the fact that Liam’s ex had tried his hand at seducing Zayn into a life without Liam.

Melodramatic, that’s how it all sounds, but Zayn’s shoulders slump as he slips down the wall and onto the floor. It’s still difficult to breathe, but Zayn makes it easy by loosening the tie around his neck, wiggling his fingers between the fabric in order to pull it undone while a button on his shirt pops loose in the process. In the end, it’s still not enough, the ache of worry already settling in as he asks, “What happened?” with his throat dry and voice choked.

Veronica must sense his change in demeanor, but she doesn’t bother to pull out a shitty joke to lighten the mood. For one, it’s not in her nature, and two, despite the fact that she said it’s not serious, maybe she’s lying to herself. People have a funny habit of denying serious situations, just a normal human reaction, one Zayn wouldn’t even blame her for. “Just got dizzy is what she’s telling the docs. Says she’s just fine and wants to go home but-”

Zayn doesn’t even have to be near his mother to know her response to the situation, how she possibly smiled, said it was nothing, felt perfectly fine afterwards. He knows how tough she tries to be, a woman who lies through her teeth just so she’s not a burden to anyone else. Zayn doesn’t blame her, but he wishes she wasn’t so stubborn, would only see that they care for her so much. “I’m coming, then,” he replies to that, silencing Veronica before she can continue. It’s not even something he has to think about, doesn’t even matter if his mother will be released within an hour or a day or two later. Zayn knows where he needs to be, and the incessant phone calls made sense, puts it into perspective for him, enough to know that he owes his sister an apology for keeping her waiting so long.

“There’s probably not a need-”

And of course Veronica would protest, just like their mother, but Zayn’s already shutting her down with a shake of his head despite the fact that she can’t see him. “Don’t care, V. I’m on my way.”

It’s the last thing Zayn says before he’s ending the call, won’t let the conversation drag on longer than necessary by wasting precious time that could be used for better things- like Zayn gathering himself together to make the trip to see his mother. The shock of it all is there, but it’s not as heavy as Zayn thinks it ought to be, though despite Veronica hiding away her breathy hitches from being upset, Zayn refuses to fall victim to anxiety and worry more than he should. None of it comes from a lack of care, either, but from the fact that if he does allow himself to wallow, then dread will eventually take over, and he can’t have a meltdown in the middle of an event, can’t let those kinds of feelings show in general because it’s important to remain strong in dire situations. And even if that were the case, even if Zayn feels the telltale signs of spite crawling up his spine after being screwed over in an unfortunate situation via past partners, Zayn wouldn’t do that to Liam in front of all these people, wouldn’t do that to himself, more importantly. His status might bring discrepancy when it comes to class, but Zayn can afford to fake it a bit longer, at least.

So, with nothing more than leaving on his mind, Zayn tries his best to scurry into action, lifts himself off the tiled ground, feeling the sudden rush of adrenaline as he takes a moment to collect himself when he’s upright. Deep, even breaths are released, a mantra that partially convinces him that everything will be okay, a resounding sentence rattling the walls of his head.

He counts down. One. Two. Three. And then releases what’s left in his lungs while they expand soon after, a never-ending cycle that keeps him alive and more or less focused.

“Zayn?”

He’d stumble if he weren’t balanced on the wall, though Zayn startles nonetheless at the sound of Liam’s voice echoing through the room and hitting him right in the heart.

“Zayn, are you alright? Didn’t mean for this to-”

And when Zayn steadies his gaze upon Liam, he finds the other man standing just a few meters away, hands shoved into his pocket and looking an unhealthy amount of guilty. Any other time, Zayn would give in to the discussion meant to be had between them; he’d let Liam speak clearly and evenly, and then Zayn would give him something to talk about if that’s what he really wanted. It’s even written the lines of Liam’s shoulders and the way he’s cautious approaching the situation as if Zayn’s a scared animal about to take flight.

But it’s not the time or the place. Even with Zayn’s situation gaining weight by the second, whatever lies between them would have to remain unsaid for a more appropriate venue. And while Zayn knows Liam means well in his endeavor, his own fallen face isn’t about ex-lovers and the shame brought along with his decisions. Zayn’s standing in his own pile of guilt, for how he’d ignored his sister, how he needs to leave tonight without fulfilling his duties.

“Tonight was never meant to go the way it did,” Liam says because Zayn still hasn’t spoken, and at the moment, they’re polar opposites, like magnets repelling and trying their best to stick together again. “What was said, and how I handled-”

Zayn shakes his head and blinks away his stubbornness, refusing to snap like a rubber band being pulled too tight. “Later, Liam,” he suggests as quietly as he can, hopes it carries despite the small distance between them. Zayn finds his throat too thick, tongue swollen on words he can’t believe he’ll eventually have to admit to: his mother’s condition.

Though it does bring a sense of hilarity to the situation, from Zayn’s point of view, at least. He doesn’t laugh, however. And Zayn also refuses to make it known that something is rightly funny, but tonight’s been such a whirlwind, where stories collide, and there’s no doubt he wonders if this all boils down to the fact that he’d admitted his feelings for Liam to Louis in some fucked up, round about way, which in turn led to distant discussions of past experiences being pulled without consent.

They had agreed it was business only, and yet here they are standing in the middle of two things that are more than personal no matter which way any of them look at it.

“Need you to take me somewhere,” Zayn requests without an explanation, can hardly hear his own voice through the rush of blood in his ears. It might’ve come out quite casually, at least Zayn hopes that it does, as if he doesn’t want to draw attention to the wavering in his voice, if there’s any of it there at all.

But with that said, it will come in due time, his reasoning for his words; surely it will, but right now Zayn needs to prioritize. That means Liam comes second, and if he refuses, then that’ll be just fine; Zayn will make do on his own.

Pushing himself away from the wall, Zayn takes a few delicate steps towards Liam before he’s shaking his head at the situation, aiming to retract his statement once he pieces together that Liam’s looking at him with confusion.

However, Liam beats him to it, must read right through Zayn because he regards him with care and a sense of urgency that shouldn’t really be there if it were anyone else. “Anything, babe.”

Determination flashes through Liam’s eyes, stance shifting as if he’s on alert, and Zayn should mourn the brilliance at which Liam is cooperative and trusting without much of an explanation. It must say something about Zayn and what’s grown between them, but he shakes it off, and refuses to let the silence ensue.

He gathers himself once again, curls his fingers into the palm of his hand once, twice before he’s shuffling forward towards Liam. Easy as that, the older man is taking Zayn’s hand in his, even if it wasn’t offered and guiding him to the main lobby of the building. All of it happens so fast, like a blur of lights through the window on a rainy night, and before Zayn knows it, someone’s off to get the car, hopefully in record time, with just the snap of Liam’s fingers. No matter his grievances, Liam’s posture is set in such a way that Zayn’s seen plenty of times before, a hard shell of the man he really is, a businessman-like approach to a simple, unexplained request from Zayn.

Zayn’s been in awe of this before, but he thinks this moment beats them all.

The notion of perseverance within Liam sends Zayn’s head spinning wild with thoughts, brown eyes turned upon him every so often that only speaks volumes to how careful he’s being, more than what words could possibly say. It’s not cold out tonight, not as they stand outside just under the awning, but the air holds a light dusting of a breeze that mellows out the mood and seems to resolve any leftover tension to that of a peaceful state.

Zayn bows his head as soon as he hears the roar of a car engine in the distance, traveling closer and closer until the headlights fall upon two shadows illuminated by light dancing across the pavement. “My mother’s in the hospital,” is all Zayn says in that moment because even saying as much means it’s a reality, and this isn’t something he ever wanted to jinx.

It’s also what Zayn had hoped his family could’ve avoided.

However, and for what it’s worth, Liam squeezes Zayn’s hand in comfort, and even if it doesn’t fix things, it’s warm and solid, and a necessary presence that Zayn doesn’t mind.

It’s only after that that things clear out and focus, like the click of a light switch, really, that has Zayn allowing the company.

Turns out that money and time are two different enemies, and while Zayn’s subjective good deed had satisfied one over the other, time had ultimately won. The only remaining reason he’s calm is because none of this exactly feels real yet. Sure, Veronica hadn’t sounded overly panicked either, and it should be more than enough of an excuse to put Zayn’s mind at ease, but it’s his mother, and Zayn loves her dearly.

Eventually, the car is pulled around, with Liam helping him into the passenger’s side seat, a way for Zayn to mentally store those actions away as if he’s cataloguing and keeping track of what Liam’s done for him so far. That list is long, if Zayn were to actually run through it; but more than anything, it serves as a reminder of his entire situation, just how blessed he is, and the fact that it helps his thoughts slip away from the potential bad news and onto something a little more positive.

Because even if Veronica had spit her cynicism, Zayn can’t let her words negate what he’s experienced firsthand, can’t let someone like Russell do that to him either. It might not be perfect, and Veronica might’ve been right on some things, but more than anything, Zayn doesn’t want to look back with regret. That’s the last thing he ever wants his life to be filled with. Even if the day comes where he’ll be left in the dust, Zayn’s got something to utilize until he can no longer do so.

For now, Liam’s forgiven - not as if Zayn had any particular right to be angry anyway, he thinks - and it puts him in a slightly better mood while they settle into the car, both of them disregarding the radio and anything that might distract Liam from the drive ahead. “I’ll get you there,” he promises, mainly a confirmation that there’s not going to be any kind of protest from him from here on out, that Zayn’s the most important person he can give all of his attention to.

And really, that’s all that matters.

What happened tonight can be put on the back burner. Even Zayn exposing his true feelings can wait another day. For now, Zayn can put aside the internal monologue that’ll eventually chew him out, the struggling need to come to terms with finding a way to appease himself without the overwhelming sense of condemnation that’s hooked onto his conscience.

Better yet, Zayn can have one last night of chivalry before he needs to take a step back and reevaluate some things. It’ll be less of a messy situation if he gets out while he’s ahead.

+


	3. Chapter 3

+

White walls and a sterilized smell, Zayn already hates the building. He expects the lingering dance of death, maybe the faint mark of blood left behind. Shivers crawl across his skin as he walks, footsteps echoing as he continues. The sound of his heart washes through his ears, and it’s not before long that Zayn turns a corner and is met with a row of chairs. There’s only a single occupant that sits restlessly as Zayn finally comes to a halt, throat constricted as he merely manages to mutter, “Harry?”

The man before him startles, looks up at the sound of his name with grief etched between the brows. When recognition passes across his features, Zayn notices how the dimpled line on the bridge of his nose smooths into one of faint relief. “Zayn,” is meant to roll of the tongue easily, but even someone with a light smile and charismatic charm can only be brave for so long. Harry stands, but that’s all he does, wiping sweaty hands down his jeans as he begins to approach Zayn. “Veronica mentioned you might show up.”

“Couldn’t not come,” Zayn smirks, but it’s half-arsed, and there’s too much weight of the unknown resting on his shoulders to provide any more comedic relief. Though, it’s probably a good thing he doesn’t have to considering walking on his own two feet is becoming a weary trail that only leads to unruly situations. Zayn’s only glad when he feels Liam’s hand against his just seconds later, fingers brushing together and no further because there’s caution sitting pretty between the words that need to be said and what’s appropriate during a hospital visit. Even then, it’s a less-than-public place, especially without souls to parade in front of; there’s no use since Harry knows, and lying would be counterproductive.

“She’s in the room,” Harry tells him by gesturing to a closed door parallel to where they’re standing. It’s only enough time to register the information before Harry’s speaking up again, only this time his eyes flicker between Zayn and the particular someone who decided to follow Zayn along, too. It’s uncanny how he feels caught in the middle again, only this time it’s two different worlds colliding for the first time, and that leaves a strange taste in Zayn’s mouth. “He should probably leave,” is given without remorse, meant to be loud enough for Liam to here, too. “Like, before Veronica notices—”

Though it’s spoken too late because in the split second that Zayn registers the sudden way Liam tenses and a door opening and closing, there’s his sister dressed in nothing but tracksuit bottoms, a shirt haphazardly thrown on. Her hair is up in a ponytail, pulling it out of the way so that her cheekbones are most prominent, how she angles her eyes at the group that’s gathered for news.

And Zayn knows she’s not just taking him in, in his fancy suit and his hair slicked back with product; no, she’s also looking at Liam, and she looks none too pleased. “What the hell is this?” she asks, head partially cocked to the side in such an accusatory way that Zayn _actually_ feels like he’s done something wrong, like he’s staring into the eyes of his mother awaiting punishment.

He should be unsettled, Zayn knows, with his sister’s voice like a knife and arms crossed. She’s defensive; that’s easy to see, but Zayn tries to ease her with a delicate shrug and a smile. “Good to see you, too.”

But the sentiment isn’t met like Zayn had briefly hoped for, knowing wishful thinking was always too good to be true.

“Figured you’d know better.” And disappointment is something Zayn’s seen a lot of lately, so really, he shouldn’t be surprised when Veronica hands it out on a silver platter again, waiting for him to take it all by ducking his head and letting his shoulders fall.

Zayn knows better than that, though, and refuses to play these games as of now, not when every other situation would be a better choice to have a row at. No, instead Zayn says it like it is, gives the truth in the only way he knows how because he feels tired all of a sudden, like there’s too much tension weighing him down, and he simply can’t breathe right. “He was only helping me out, V,” he says, though it comes off a bit more impersonal than intended. “Didn’t come here to piss you off.”

Still, Veronica doesn’t look impressed, especially given the rise of a brow because of Zayn’s boldness. With that comes a step forward, and then another, teeth gritting together before she blurts out, “You’re not welcome here.”

Like that of a film, Veronica’s nostrils flare and her line comes off as corny, but she means what she says. Zayn finds himself shuffling between Liam and his sister as if he could physically stop the blow of words. None of it does any good, though, because even as Zayn stands in the way like a shield, he still feels the slide of Liam’s fingers down his arm, and the murmur of his name asking him to stand down.

Even then, it doesn’t help, though, because Zayn knows his sister, and while her good intentions make sense, she’s executing them poorly. Maybe it would’ve been better had he told her that Liam pretty much knows nothing about her.

“You’re not going in until he leaves,” she says as much more than a request, the sharp bite of her words piercing what’s left of the silence. Zayn should’ve asked Liam to leave earlier, he’s beginning to realize, just as soon as they’d gotten here; either that or at least dealt with the problem before Veronica could get involved, but it’s too late.

Especially considering the fact that her eyes narrow as if she expects Zayn to challenge her.

He won’t, of course, not here of all places, and Harry’s already bowed out of the conversation, returning to his seat because he’s a stickler for Veronica and her words and hardly has the heart to refuse anything she says.

Zayn, however, knows how to beat around the bush and persuade, but as it turns out, pressure is a constant, infuriating thing that pounds away at more than just deadlines. He’d honestly be a fool if he thought he could push this one.

It also doesn’t help that Veronica looks like she’s snarling, the unimpressed look she’s giving Liam from over Zayn’s shoulder doing nothing more than stating her complete dislike. “They’re not finding out about this.”

Which seals the deal, really, has Zayn stuttering back like a wounded animal until he’s got Liam’s hand in his, dragging him away from the scene before Veronica can sink her claws in any deeper. However, even as Zayn leads them back the way they came, only so that they’re out of earshot and not stepping on any toes, he knows that Veronica’s already laid the marks. Bruised and tender is how he’s meant to feel, but it’s the hitched breathing and antsy tension that swells far beyond mere hurt.

“She hardly likes me, I reckon,” Liam says as Zayn finds a place for them to stand; they’re in the middle of a long, white hallway, off to the side in case anyone needs to pass them by. Zayn knows Liam’s trying to be light with how awkward everything must be, how he feels being personally scolded without context by a woman he could only draw conclusions from.

Zayn snorts, though, rubs his bottom lip with his thumb. “An understatement,” he begins, “it’s not really a valid situation, now is it?”

Despite the attempt at a reminder, Liam doesn’t look wounded, and if he really is, well, it’s not like Zayn will ever know or find out anyway. “Didn’t mean to cause trouble,” Liam continues, bowing his head while playing with the cuff of his sleeve. He’s quite handsome in bright light that hides nothing but what’s underneath clothes, the sharp contrast of pale skin almost makes them both look poorly, ashy, even. “Just a bit worried; that’s all.”

The specification for the worry isn’t defined, and Zayn figures it’s best to twist it around because the interpretation is up for grabs. Liam’s left it that way, and if it’s for a reason, then Zayn’s going to give him one. “Isn’t it a little too late for that?” he snaps, voice deep with things left unsaid and a bone to pick regardless of necessity. Though really, most of it boils down to the tension of the night, and the shadow of recent memories that have not left Zayn alone. “Playing worried shouldn’t’ve come so late.”

Bold. Zayn never thought himself the type, but it’s what he is right now standing a few feet away from the door that holds his family —his mother— in a hospital bed while he’s outside tempted to continue a rising argument that should not happen here. Especially considering Zayn still has yet to receive any news of the events that lead to a trip to a medical building. Yet, with it comes the thrill of exhaustion haunting his bones, and all Zayn wishes for is a chair and to deal with things later, even if he’s ever right to worry about it now.

“Zayn, that’s not—”

But muffled laughter cuts Liam off in his finest hour of defense, awkward and fake as it is. It’s only a good thing given Zayn believes he has no room to talk about any of this currently, but still it spills like red wine, brandishing everything in his wake. “No,” he dismisses, shaking his head to drive the point home. “You don’t get to explain yourself right now. Not when you had a chance.”

“Took me by surprise—”

Hazel eyes cut to the man before theme, purple and blue discoloration sitting heavy under black lashes while small creases pay a nice visit, too. What joins them all is a slow slide of a sarcastic smirk, and if Zayn came here to damage, it’s only a last minute decision. “Of course you were, weren’t sitting pretty cozy with someone else, hmm. Can’t imagine how surprising my presence could’ve been.”

And again, once more, Liam’s speaking, and Zayn does recognise the distrust there, like Liam’s finally identifying a man before him who contrasts with the one he’s always known. “That’s _not_ —”

With a click of his tongue, Zayn drags his gaze away from Liam to just down the hall, the wooden door a dark brown with just enough thickness to it to keep conversation away from prying ears. “There’s some kind of an excuse in your words,” Zayn reasons, scuffing his heel across the ground. “And maybe there’s an explanation that’ll help me understand, but I don’t want to hear it right now.”

When he finishes, it’s with certainty, heart pounding in Zayn’s chest. It hurts, the swollen possibility of what Liam might tell him next, if anything at all, or later on down the line. Zayn doesn’t want to be pacified, though; he doesn’t want lies, empty promises, or a detailed description of how Liam’s oh-so-sorry. In fact, Liam hadn’t really done much wrong, just imposed the implication that Zayn wouldn’t be enough for him.

Truly, it’s Zayn landing the inevitable blow before Liam can get to it first, and maybe Zayn should be great that none of it happened in a much more compromising situation. All of this had been pretty mild in comparison, and Zayn just proved to himself that Liam has gotten under his skin, something he hadn’t wanted to admit for quite some time now.

“You should go,” Zayn requests, much less of a demand because his voice is hollow, and he doesn’t actually mean it no matter how convincing he might sound otherwise.

There’s a bit of shuffling, which does draw Zayn’s attention back onto the older gentleman, but it’s only that. Liam keeps his hands to himself, looks quite upset, even bewildered until everything falls away, and Zayn’s left with something unreadable. With shoulders squared and a pinch to the brow, Liam only gives Zayn this: “We still need to talk.”

A suggestion, if anything, left option for discussion if Zayn wants to go that route now, or continue to postpone it for a later date. “Wrong place, Liam,” is the response, a reassurance for the both of them. “I’m not getting into anything when tonight’s been shitty as it is. Can’t do it right now, so please just go, and we’ll figure something out later.”

Zayn’s wishes are clear when Liam takes a quick step back and nods, shoes shiny and contrasted against the white tiles of the floor. There might even be enough there for a reflection of sorts, twisted about like a fish lens, skewering angles and dimensions when clearly there’s so much more to see. Though, pink lips are pressed together, and Liam seems quite unwilling to move after that. It’s not from a lack of disrespect either, Zayn figures. What it boils down to is fretful lines around the eyes, a downturned lip, and a haggard stance that resembles defeat.

“I’ll be fine,” Zayn reassures because he hasn’t even given Liam that much to go off of, and the least he can do is be thankful Liam got him here at all. But as much as Liam looks weary, Zayn knows he must look that twice-fold.

Silence. Again. It lingers and seems to stick to Zayn like glue, sticky and difficult to get rid of without a proper rinse. Though just because it sits between them, doesn’t mean it’s welcome, and it doesn’t mean it’ll last. And it doesn’t, now when Liam gives in one last time. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The question lingers in the air between them, no interruptions as if the hospital’s postponed emergencies so Liam and Zayn could have their quarrel. But even then, it’s a question with an easy answer, one Zayn hesitates to give because they haven’t crossed this road since the beginning, and Liam should definitely already know. He should know the answer, that business and pleasure simply do not mix, that even though they’ve been a lot closer lately, that doesn’t mean more would come of it.

“Could’ve asked you the same,” Zayn tries to reason. It’s true, though, no matter which way they choose to look at it. He could be demanding answers right this very moment, play the significant other who wants to know details about past loves and just where Zayn sits on that scale.

But Liam’s sighing like he gets it finally, that his question wasn’t interpreted all that well. “About your mother, at least.”

“Straight business from the get-go. We aren’t seeing each other, Liam,” Zayn explains, rather regurgitates the basic principle of their very first meeting. “You said so yourself, and I kept my part of the deal, tried to, at least. Now why aren’t you?” Though with a shrug, Zayn pulls one last card out from his sleeve and states it matter-of-factly rather than an aim to punch. “You said you had other numbers.”

Instead of being offended, Liam’s brow furrows like he still doesn’t get it, like what they’ve been through matters. He even glances down the hall to place emphasis, and Zayn already knows where he’s going with it. “But _this_ is important.”

Which is true above all else, but Zayn’s cynical and feels full of unshed tears and damning thoughts of _this could last_ or _there’s something here_. “It’s my personal life, Liam,” he informs like it’s news to both of their ears. “You wanted nothing to do with it.”

It’s not the wrong thing to say necessarily, but it does send a twitch to the corner of Liam’s mouth, him pulling back even further, wheels turning in his head as things possibly slide into place. It’s hard to tell at first, not until Liam’s sliding his gaze upon Zayn, caught between tension and realization of something that’s happened that hadn’t quite made sense. Though Liam swallows, even digs his fingers into the collar of his shirt to loosen his tie as if maybe he can’t catch a breath. The actions do nothing for him, it seems, though it does make him look disheveled, if only a little. “Is this what you were upset about the other night?” he asks, wide eyes trained upon Zayn’s easily schooled face. “Why you came to me?”

Zayn huffs out a wet laugh because now there’s emotion at play, and Zayn hardly thinks he can keep this up for too much longer. “That’s what we were doing with one another, wasn’t it?” he proceeds, like knife to an already opened wound, drawing even more blood. “Using each other.”

Liam’s nostrils flare, tongue running over the front of his teeth as exasperation gets the best of him. However, as easy as it is to dwell with disbelief, resignation soon follows with slumped shoulders and the arm Liam pulls around his stomach. “You’re pushing me away,” is what he says, the ache of sadness bittersweet as things fizzle out quickly.

They’re having a conversation, of course, but not the one Zayn knows they truly need.

“No,” he gives, resisting the urge to drag this out any further. “I’ve family matters to attend to.”

With that, Zayn draws back and aims to walk away, leaving Liam behind and only an afterthought until he can get everything else under control. For so long, he had been that way, if only for a little while, but now everything’s fallen apart in the span of one awful night.

It’s best to leave it for now, and that’s what Zayn does as takes the necessary steps that’ll drag him away from something he honestly can no longer define. Yet, Liam’s question rings out just behind him, Zayn squeezing his eyes shut as if he can will his reality away with the blink of an eye.

“You won’t let me help?”

One might think Zayn’s heard some good news with the way a smile blooms across his face, wide and full of teeth. “You already have,” he answers without looking back because this would call for Zayn finding himself in Liam’s arms, drawn up into a hug and musky cologne invading his senses. “You have in more ways than you’ll ever know,” Zayn continues because that part is true, and he’d feel horrible if he kept that from Liam. Surely the man can piece together exactly what he means by that, money paid had been money spent on people Zayn cared about.

Zayn hardly thinks Liam would fault him too much for that.

“But right now, it’s best if you go. Veronica’s not going to let you stay anyway.” And with that, he’s walking, not quickly because there’s not an immediate rush, half expects Liam to come after him although it’s unlikely after Zayn’s request.

Although, Liam does leave Zayn with a, “Call me, then.” Quiet and only meant for the time of them, ever resilient despite the fact that if Zayn were to glance behind himself, he’d find a torn demeanor that’s only fighting two directions: leaving as he should, or leaving Zayn here while also realizing that this isn’t his place no matter if Zayn welcomed him back or not.

Though Zayn can’t place whether Liam would ever wish it were. It’s too iffy, too big of a thought for Zayn to handle because he’s only granted so much luck in his life.

Instead, Zayn continues walking and pushes away the steady patter of feet on tile out of his mind, knowing they’re growing distant by the second. His smile remains, however, because it’s the best thing he can give himself at a time like this, a false sense of security even though it’s all falling apart at the seams.

+

Scrubbing away at pots and pans is only an empty release meant to solve a problem temporarily. Only, Zayn figures that by now, the silver should be clean, and his reflection shouldn’t mock him each time he stares down into the dirty water, dunking metal and rinsing it free of any apparent stains. Of course, the dishwasher is going, chugging along as Zayn finishes up what was left of their dinner setup that did not fit, but it hasn’t eased up his anxiety like he thought it should’ve. Instead, Zayn continues to stick his hands back into hot water that’ll eventually cool itself down before too long.

It’s been easy like this, sorting himself out in his childhood home, making himself a permanent guest rather than just a visitor who hadn’t seen the place in several odd months. Everything still feels familiar, although Zayn knows he’s grown, feels too big to fit through the threshold of the front door, or even shuffle around the kitchen without a trip down memory lane.

For what it’s worth, it’s been nice reliving those memories, but then there’s always reality that wakes him back up, and it follows him gradually. Like the clock on the wall, for instance, that ticks away every second of his time. He counts, watches each hand go around and around until he’s startled back to his younger sister’s grinning face and a plea for homework help. Obviously, he gives in, though Zayn had never been good at math, he tries his best until his father gets home and the kitchen fills with laughter while dinner is prepared.

But mornings are the worst because they’re the quietest, hearing his mother's footsteps off down the hall, waking up his siblings because school is a necessity. They’d missed a day, only behind because of unexpected circumstances that still plague Zayn despite that having been nearly a week ago. None of them have discussed it, and Zayn’s afraid to bring it up.

Although now, there’s little room for it as the days get heavier, and things go back to normal, as if Zayn hadn’t seen the first hospital bill come in, the crease in his father’s brow, and the guilt in his mother’s eye for causing them any misfortune. Always, his throat closes up, and Zayn’s counted his paper and snuck down to the post office first thing the next morning because bills are tiresome creatures that sit just behind the loafs of bread on the counter, clear as day, but hidden if there’s no attention paid.

Fortunately, there’d hardly been any questions that first time, but even Zayn grows confused when no more bills come. And maybe that’s why he finds himself at odds with a pan that should be clean by now, or why he jumps when he feels the curl of a hand around his wrist, so gentle and concerned that when Zayn looks up, his mother is there with kind, brown eyes and a half smile that lets him know to take it easy. “Gonna rub it into thin air if you keep going, sunshine.”

Maybe he expects something different, like her voice to radiate a weird sense of sadness, the feeling that sits in her eyes sometimes to wither down into her tone. But she’s strong, and Zayn’s only ever met one woman like her, and Veronica insists she’ll never be half the woman their mother was and will always be.

Zayn blinks, though, finally feels wet tears clinging to his eyelashes, carefully wiping them away with his shoulder. It’s easier to keep his hands in muddy water, knows how wrinkly they’ll be if he takes them out, and Zayn’s not ready to cry over the skin hills that resemble so many obstacles in his life. “Stubborn, that’s all.”

Trisha smiles, but she makes no comment, doesn’t ask him what’s the matter. In fact, she releases his wrist and makes up for it by rubbing the flat of her palm against his shoulder blade. “You can set it down. I’ll get to the rest later. Been doing it far longer than you have, and it won’t take me that long.”

But Zayn shakes his head at the offer because his mother had been in the living room having another night off with her husband, and Zayn thinks she still ought to be in there. If he were around more, he’d see the daily routine his parents have fallen into, though he’s got a guess that they don’t get to see one another often enough. “S’not a problem, mum,” he reassures because truly, it’s just a pan, and Zayn may not be able to properly cook, but the least he can do is clean.

Though, for the moment, Zayn now feels lost. Before, he’d been given a moment of reprieve, to settle into deep thoughts without the worry of someone watching him mull over where the future intends to take him. And Zayn can’t blame his mother, not exactly. She’s not _doing_ anything but beginning the task of wiping down the kitchen counter just to ease the cleaning process along. Yet, somehow, it brings an annoyance to Zayn, not out of lack of appreciation, but having his mother in such a close proximity is both what he doesn’t want and what he’s terrified of losing.

After all, Zayn’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for the ultimate need to be a good son and do what he thought was right. Of course, that’s without putting blame onto his family, especially his mother because it’s most certainly not her fault. Zayn would be a fool to cast that stone; he’s been a fool, maybe, but that was his burden to bear and not throw anyone else under the bus.

“Do you know how long you’ll be staying?”

Zayn startles, water sloshing onto the side of the sink before he hastily pulls his hands out of the water to find a dishrag so he can clean up his mess. However, his mother beats him to it, her hand stalling just as she finishes soaking up the liquid, and then she’s left blinking up at Zayn with more than curiosity. There’s something else in her eye, and just because he’s a head smaller than him, doesn’t mean she isn’t the most intimidating thing he’ll ever face if he lies.

Veronica is one thing, that’s for sure, but she had to have learned that from someone, and Zayn’s staring right into the lion’s den.

“Want to get rid of me already?” he jokes, but his mother knows, and they both know he knows, and it’s odd, really, that she’s determined. Or maybe this time around she’s learned to take baby steps until she directly pinpoints the problem.

Either way, Zayn already feels the heat and the truth pooling on the tip of his tongue.

Honestly, he’d like to believe there isn’t a problem, downplay it for what it’s worth. At least, that’s what he’s still trying to convince himself of. Avoidance is a tricky burden, and it accounts for so many things in his life, that he feels water licking up his legs just to wrap its feverish arms around his throat.

“Something’s on your mind,” Trisha presses because she can, and Zayn’s helpless when it comes to asking her to stop.

“I can’t spend some time with you?” he questions in a half-arsed attempt to pull the innocent card. “Haven’t been around in awhile; that’s all.”

She grins, but it’s the sad kind because underneath that lies the reason Zayn’s here in the first place, and for a moment, Zayn wants to apologize for bringing up the implication. None of them have necessarily talked about it, maybe his parents in the quiet of their bedroom, but Zayn hasn’t spoken a word about his mother’s accident since she was released from the hospital.

Just a nasty fall from weakened muscles, nothing too fancy, and from what the doctors could tell, Trisha had been doing a fine job of taking care of herself with the support of her family. Hiccups happen, and that’s what they blamed this on.

Still, it gave Zayn more than just a fright and something he knew he couldn’t properly express without admitting his anxiety. That, in itself, was the last thing anyone in this house needed.

“Not complaining, sunshine. Just curious, seem a bit aloof lately.”

Zayn nods while Trisha moves to the other side of the kitchen, continuing her cleaning while leaving Zayn with open space and enough room to quickly dart out of the room if necessary. But it’d be too easy, he thinks, so he shrugs and dries his hands, already feeling the skin on his fingertips overly soft and affected by his desire to distance himself from proper thoughts that might just get shit done. “Nothing you need to worry about, mum. I promise.”

With a bit of a wavering laugh, Zayn watches his mother’s smile grow, flicking makeup-covered eyes over towards him, a sign that not only tells Zayn that she’s feeling better, but she made the effort to do something for herself without asking for much in return. It’s a small gesture, and it reminds Zayn of the few times he’d watch his mother run the tube of lipstick over her lips, how Veronica’s grubby fingers always reached for it because she wanted to try it, too. Zayn never had the desire, though he thinks he can see the appeal; a moment of quietness and time spent pampering isn’t necessarily out of selfish desires, but more along the lines of a feel-good method that doesn’t have to cost much and makes one feel special regardless.

Honestly, he’s just happy his mother looks well. A healthy color in her cheeks without an IV strapped to middle of her arm. Hospitals never scared Zayn, but maybe because he knew that death was inevitable, and he’d find himself crowded within four white walls one of these days—for himself, or for someone he knew.

“Don’t suppose that’s meant to be your line, is it?” Trisha responds sternly, but she’s teasing mostly. Zayn can practically hear the message that _it’s a mother’s job to worry_. His mother doesn’t voice it, but maybe that’s Trisha sparing him from a line he’s heard quite often. “Listen, Zayn—” and she cuts herself off for a moment, not only allowing Zayn the opportunity to do as he’s told, but gather herself, too. In fact, her hand clenches the dishrag, hip leaning against the counter like she needs to be ready for this talking to as well. “I know what you’ve done for us.”

And Zayn gulps because it’s gonna be _that_ kind of talking to, something overly serious and a thing Zayn feels completely uncomfortable mentioning. Not only for his own personal reasons, but it’s the kind of conversation that involves feelings and ones that he doesn’t want to address yet. Or confirm to himself.

His mother continues because she’s determined, and Zayn can’t _not_ listen to her.

“Veronica’s been very adamant about it, too, and you’re both lovely—”

“Only trying to help, mum,” is his meager response with a shrug of the shoulder. Just hoping to see if maybe that would somehow wipe the slate clean, and they could move on from there.

But Trisha gives him a look that tells him it’s not that simple, especially as she continues with, “You know how your father gets about these things,” and there’s the wave of a hand like she’s pretending to throw away her husband’s nonsense. He knows how _he_ is, his stubbornness something they are all fairly acquainted with. “It’s the parents that are meant to look after their children, dear. Not the other way around.”

He opens his mouth, trying to interrupt, but she snaps her fingers. Zayn closes his mouth, teeth clacking together as if he’d been reprimanded. “You listen here,” she says with more authority than she probably means. She knows his nature, and this time, she’s not willing to let him speak in protest, “whatever happens, is going to happen, and there’s a lot of nonsense in you wasting away because of something that can’t be helped.”

“Mum—”

But she silences him again, and Zayn blinks his eyes because no, there aren't tears in the corner of his eyes, and his eyes aren’t glassy over the simple fact that his mother knows his troubles—much less about Liam, and more so about the fact that he’s been working his arse off to help provide. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Zayn knew she’d question it all; hell, Veronica even told him she would, but he didn’t think she’d bring it to him, and yet, he gave her the perfect opportunity by coming home and shuffling through the halls like he still had a stake in the place.

He’s not surprised, far from it, but it doesn't mean it hurts any less because Zayn knows she appreciates it, but somewhere deep down, Trisha isn’t feeling like a charity case, but more like a woman who has a son who should be living rather than feeling held back by the binds of blood.

“M’not gonna ask you for details, yeah? I should, but I won’t, though I hope you haven’t gotten yourself into some kind of trouble.”

Honest. His mother is always honest with him, and maybe that’s why Zayn’s never felt the distinct need to lie outright to any of his family, especially his mother. But this time around, the truth is a secret he must keep, mostly for his own sake, and his own hide. It’s what started it all, and why he’s standing here right now feeling downright horrible, though he thinks he ought to beg the question as to why his actions might be considered so shameful.

It’s something heavy, the reason he’s up a creek without including the way fate twisted his feelings all up into his heart and fucked him over like they did. He resists the urge to roll his eyes at a time like this and stomps down the blatant need to confess, though Zayn does hold his breath when Trisha goes on.

“Don’t think I don’t know, Zayn,” she says simply, Zayn’s heart possibly skipping a beat like maybe he hasn’t been good at hiding anything, or that maybe Veronica’s somehow betrayed him when he asked her otherwise. But it’s none of that, and Zayn figures having overly paranoid thoughts only accounts for some decisions he’s managed to fuck up. “You’ve got a big heart, and I don’t blame you for it. I want you to focus on you, though, and stop worrying about things you shouldn’t be.”

Even Zayn can see how difficult is it for her to spit that out, wonders how often his mother thought of herself as obligation rather than an aid like a mother should be. The thought alone is enough to cause his shoulders to sag, too sentimental like he knew it would be, too much pressure weighing down his heart. It’s too close to the personal, and Zayn only knows that if he feels the rawness in his throat, his mother’s one hell of a woman to keep her posture and her dignity in such grateful tact.

Although, without skipping a beat, Trisha’s pointing a finger at him, though the hint of a smile is pressed to her lips that make her look much younger version of herself. Zayn may not necessarily know exactly what love is, the kind that’s meant to sweep on off their feet, but he’s seeing a different form of it now embraced around him in a house and a family who gave their best. For that, Zayn know he’s more than lucky.

“You’ve your own life to live, sunshine, and you can’t let anything stop you from that,” she waits for him to nod, and he does because Zayn’s listening, and he likes the way his heart feels two sizes too big. “Besides, it’s going to take more than a nasty fall to get me out of your hair.”

Because that’s what happened, and that’s all it was, a nasty fall from a weakened body, and Zayn keeps reminded himself of that. Of course, worry still plagues him, but for now, all is well, and it’s best to focus on that anyway than the bit of fear that seems to have found a home in the middle of his stomach. For now, Zayn matches Trisha’s smile, lets her hug him tight and silently thanks her for a reassuring talk he hardly thought he needed.

Though in the midst of her words, Zayn does find some form of comfort, a gentle hand placed upon his that isn’t meant to be guiding, but reassuring in all the ways he never knew he needed. He figures it’s wisdom gained from years of living and past mistakes, the comfort of familiarity and his home that lets Zayn breathe for the first time since he’s walked through the door.

It’s not entirely better, and there’s still a bit of a haunted feeling that Zayn knows will follow him like a shadow, but it’s slightly okay, and for him, that’s enough. It’s enough for now until he goes back home and sorts through the blessings he received because at least he has confirmations, answers to questions that will eventually come up. There’s more to solve, thoughts like leeches that keep afloat, but Zayn’s comfortable with the knowledge that his _entire_ situation hadn’t been a talking point, but at least he’d have some wiggle room to work up some much needed courage.

“Now,” Trisha says, interrupting Zayn’s thoughts by pulling back from the hug she brought him into, “if you’re not going to let me finish up the dishes, you better finish before the water gets too cold. Then come join us in the living room, yeah? Bit of a film night.”

And she’s waving a hand, taking the dishrag with her to most likely throw it in the laundry, and while Trisha hesitates by the door to see if maybe Zayn will be stubborn like she knows he is, he shoos her away with a laugh and a firm, “I’ll take care of it, mum. Don’t worry.”

It sounds bittersweet to his ears, a simple statement that encompasses his entire being and that of the past few months of his life. But it works even though it’s all still up in the air.

Zayn knows what he’s got to do, _thinks_ he knows what he ought to do, but today is today, and as he sticks his hands back into the soapy water to continue his journey of squeaky clean dishes, he settles into the fact that for right now, he has a little more time to figure his shit out.

Besides, what’s another day going to hurt?

+

“I see you’re still moping.”

It’s too early in the morning for this, the sky full of watercolors blended together to create a gradient masterpiece. Zayn gets to see the sky like this sometimes, usually if he has an early shift at one of his lousy jobs. Other times, he’s too cynical to appreciate it for what it’s worth when the sun is directly in his eyes.

It wakes him up in ways he knows is unreasonable.

Even still, he can enjoy it now; at least, he was before Veronica decided to join him. She’s up early too, much more of an early bird than Zayn’s ever been, but the way she wraps her arms around herself and how she continues to stand over him reminds him that there’s a reason she’s out here, and it’s not for the view or his company.

“‘m not,” he replies because it’s easier being stubborn than admitting otherwise to his sister.

“You are,” she argues, finally taking a seat next to him on the concrete stairs. They’re still a bit chilly, and her grimace only proves that. “Haven’t come back home in quite awhile, and I’m pretty sure you’re driving Mum up the wall.”

Zayn scoffs at the notion. “Did she tell you that?”

In all her glory, Veronica crooks a brow, the silent question clear as day. Zayn shouldn’t bother to challenge her, and maybe he should feel bad about smothering his family, but then he’d have to admit the reason behind his actions. That’s something he’s definitely willing to avoid at all costs. His mother may have not been able to pick up on his exact troubles, but she’d seen the crease in his brow and pressed her thumb to the center to rub it out, claiming no problem was worth that much trouble.

Zayn just wanted to snort and say, “If you only knew.”

However, it’s two days later, and Zayn knows reality is calling. He can’t stick around for much longer because his room is a mess, and his job is probably lost by now. Not as if he’d mourn it, necessarily, but it’s not like he’s got all the funds in the world to keep a tab.

And then there’s the Liam thing, and that’s the big X on the treasure map that Zayn’s not even looking to find.

“Think Harry misses you, too. You’ve hardly talked to him, and he won’t sod off. Keeps asking me about you.”

He ducks his head at that, feels mild shame crawling up his bones for the lack of communication. They’ve been apart before, Harry and him, but not without a phone call to ease worried minds. They’re not exactly co-dependent either, but Harry’s family, and it only makes sense that he’d worry. “Suppose I should call him later, then.”

“Or you can get your arse home and figure yourself out,” Veronica says easily, as if it’s some kind of magical solution Zayn can hop up and do right this very moment.

But his bones are weary, and his mind feels dull, and mostly, Zayn doesn’t want to confront anything. Too scared. Too nervous. Words previously said are left stewing on his tongue, and there’s no way he can take them back now.

Funny thing is, they weren’t even harsh, nothing seriously detrimental that should cause this much neglect. But Zayn’s probably a coward, and he feels a nice level of guilt on his chest for how brittle he’d been towards Liam because yeah, that’s the source, and that’s the worry. Regardless of what Zayn does, it hasn’t gone away.

He doesn’t think it will until he settles it himself. It’s mostly just finding the drive to rip off the band-aid, especially with the fact that this mother is okay. His family is all settled back into their everyday lives, and Zayn has run out of excuses.

Although, it’s not like he’d make any changes in this exact moment anyway, especially considering that Veronica’s got a mind of her own, and she’s already spitting out her next question. “Are you mad at me?”

Zayn quickly looks over at his sister like she’s gone mad, but her expression is clear, hair pulled back into a soft bun with loose pieces falling to frame her face. With nothing but trackies and a t-shirt on, she’s barefoot, toes wiggling every so often to keep them from freezing within the early morning chill. “Why are you asking me that?”

“So, that’s a yes, then.”

“It’s a question, V, not an answer.” And that’s the truth, yes, but he also hadn’t necessarily considered his thoughts towards Veronica ever since he hightailed it home. He knows what she’s trying to hint at, but her purpose for it is unclear.

“You can be, if that’s the case,” Veronica whispers, leaning down to rest her chin on the top of her knee. She looks rather small curled in on herself, and Zayn’s sure he hasn’t seen her like this in quite some time, too prideful, too full of work ethic to let anything have her head fall.

But it’s reasonable, he guesses. They haven’t spoken much, if at all, and Zayn would very much like to chalk it to up being rather neglectful on his part, refusing to accept the terms and conditions to the reason why both he and his sister are sitting outside on a perfectly good morning when they could be in bed sleeping. “It’s not—” he tries, but what he wants to say gets stuck, like tacky caramel on his tongue. The words stick like glue, and Zayn can’t help but shake his head in a particular manner, mostly to collect his thoughts and try again.

Only, he shrugs despite Veronica not seeing it and says, “Hadn’t given it much thought.”

Veronica snorts, and even if Zayn can only see the side of her face, he knows she’s rolled her eyes. “Please spare me,” she retorts. “I came out here to tell you to stop moping because you’re the only one here who knows why you’re doing it.”

Biting back a sarcastic comment, Zayn nudges her with his elbow and nearly throws her off balance. But Veronica’s quick, and she bounces back with a sharp look and thin lips that clearly mean she’s ready to tell him off. “This is fucked up, Zayn, alright,” Veronica sighs, but she lets go of the anger written between her brows, shoulders dropping tension like rainwater spills from the sky. “But I’m only saying this so you can fix your shit and not because I completely agree.”

“What are you on about?”

Veronica and Zayn have never held much animosity towards one another, especially being close growing up. And while there were petty sibling fights and misunderstood feelings because of their differences in opinions, they’ve always had a knack for working it out. Zayn can honestly say he’s proud of that, knew his parents had a hand in making sure they took care of one another before they did anything they’d regret, but Zayn also knows that even in levels of high pressure, where stubbornness would surely grow like a heedless vine, one of them would have if it meant the wellbeing of another.

So with Veronica’s jaw full of strained remorse, she gives in to something Zayn knows can’t be easy for her, and it only makes him self aware just how wrong he might be in this situation, too.

Anyhow, Veronica doesn’t let him take the high road, not when she wiggles her toes and whispers, “M’not telling you to continue seeing him, but then again—”

“Veronica—” Zayn chokes out, shakes his head with much more than defeat. “You don’t have to—”

“But I do, don’t I?” she says, finally blinking owlish eyes at Zayn. “You tried explaining it to me once, and I didn’t understand then.”

“Are you trying to tell me you do now because I’d certainly like to know the change of heart.”

“Don’t be an arsehole when I’m trying to apologize, you dick,” Veronica spits, but the curl at the corner of her mouth suggests that she’s not angry, just a bit peeved that Zayn’s making it difficult for her.

He’s her brother, after all, and it only makes sense that he does. “Sorry,” he responds, but they both know it’s less than half-assed.

“I’m trying, yeah?” she then precedes, and it’s heartfelt from there, a moment’s pause to let the implications of her seriousness through the winding corridors of their otherwise playful banter. “Just didn’t want you being used, to be fair. You could’ve picked a less shoddy situation, Zayn; you have to understand that, at least.”

She’s not kidding, not with the way her eyes flutter away from his, her gaze seeking comfort elsewhere because it’s easier confronting feelings when they’re not being directed at the intended target.

Nonetheless, Zayn reaches out for her hand in an act of kindness, and mostly one of pure comfort. Her fingers a thinner than his, delicate, and perfectly painted in ways that Zayn would never be able to master. It shows her dedication, Zayn believes, all hard, precise lines that look neat compared to jagged ends on the tips of his own fingers. They’re blunt while Veronica’s are clever, and Zayn squeezes her hand just to let her know he’s listening carefully.

“But I suppose if that were the case, I don’t think— What’s his name again?” She snaps her fingers with her free hand, and Zayn snickers at her fault.

“Liam,” he gives, the name falling off his tongue for the first time in days. It doesn’t feel as weird as he thought it might, and it’s not heavy either. Though, that could be a sign, if anything else. “His name is Liam.”

“Right,” Veronica dips her head in agreement. “Liam wouldn’t be looking at you like he did if it was what you told me it was.”

Zayn’s thumb rubs gentle on the back of her hand and waits patiently to see if she’ll continue. Although her admission both thrills and scares him, he’s more concerned with her endgame. It’d be a lie if he said his heart wasn’t beating rapidly in his chest, a steady thrum of anxiety and mild hope just in case the impossible might happen.

“Like a kicked puppy, honestly,” she finishes with, though know there’s a funny kind of smile on her face, a giggle that escapes her lips that almost has Zayn asking if she’s sober right now. But it lasts far longer than Veronica probably intends it too, and she even gives it to Zayn with a glint in her eye that dares him to comment on her amusement. “Do you like him, too, Zayn?”

He doesn’t mean to, honest, but Zayn sucks in a sharp breath, and there goes his heart again, wild and probably unnatural as the anxiety spikes, and he’s left panicked in a moment he never actually thought would occur. It’s easier reminding himself that it’s only Veronica, and that she’s here with him being completely honest in a space they grew up together, where they spilled their secrets like tumbling crayons fallen out of their box.

But he doesn’t know how to answer that properly because it’s a question that leads to something Zayn’s purposely tried to avoid after all this time. He’s scolded and berated himself for any lick of feelings he might’ve caught within his chest, always reminding himself that what he got himself into was his own fault, and that changing the game would do more harm than good. And maybe Liam reciprocated feelings here and there, or at least, that’s what it looked like to Zayn, but then again, he’s never been good at reading lovesick emotions, and Zayn’s battled with the love of a kind Liam, or the fact that he offers stability and a lined pocket.

With that, it makes him seem shallow and regressed, but Zayn’s terrified of giving away the comfort he knows, never thought himself to be that kind of person. But seeking what it’s like on the other side, he just wants a taste more, wants it for selfish reasons, but also for that of his family. He can be blamed, but how much? And Zayn’s not ready to answer the question his sister is asking, but it rolls off his tongue anyway, a half-truth that doesn’t suffice in the long run because it’s a deviating tactic used by the best of them to slip out of an angry snake's grasp.

Thing is, Veronica is smarter, and she catches on the moment he answers with, “Think it’s too late for what I feel.”

Which is partial truth, or at least something Zayn’s been trying to convince himself of. He’s ignored Liam the past few days, especially after he’d purposefully sent him home after Zayn had been brought to the hospital. Veronica had been pissy then, and Zayn knows her apology right now is because of that night, but Zayn has his own demons in the form of the words that had slipped off his tongue, the harsh, bitter truth that caring wasn’t in Liam and Zayn’s initial agenda, and that was dangerous territory to be in at this point in time.

It still is, but sooner or later, Zayn’s going to have to do something because Liam’s going to move on, he’s sure of it. There’s no way a man like him would continue to wait after one too many brushoffs.

“Bullshit,” Veronica counters, though, because of course she’ll latch on to prey and eat it, too. “I know what I said, and what I asked, and how I felt, but that hardly influenced you in the beginning.” Another truth, for sure, and Zayn feels the small punches each time Veronica opens her mouth. “There’s no way in hell you’d still be here if you weren’t avoiding something. You forget,” she pokes him in the shoulder as soon as she pulls her hand out of his, “I know you way too well, and if you think you can lie to our parents and get away with it and expect it to work on me, too, you’re mental.”

The push-pull tactic is grandiose, honestly, and Zayn would be miffed if it were any other person pushing his buttons, poking and prodding at open wounds that’ve yet to heal properly yet.

So, he sighs, and Zayn tries to think of something he can give until he’s actually ready to face the music, but he’s got nothing, and Veronica tuts like a mother mocking.

And honestly, he does not need this.

“Alright,” Veronica continues without missing a beat, “you want me to get my hands dirty, I will.” Which is a clear sign that she’s going to pull the rug out from underneath him so very quickly, he won’t know what happened. But as he scrambles for words and hopes to avoid the counter attack, Veronica slides into unknown territory. “I think it says something that you’re willing to avoid the question, and while I won’t rile you up with my guesses, I’ll go ahead and presume that you _did_ have some kind of argument.”

Her emphasis is clear, and it doesn’t help that Zayn keeps his lips together without denying the notion of Veronica’s thoughts. Of course she’s right, though Zayn wouldn’t be the first to call it a spat that had happened between Liam and him. It was a conversation, just statements being made based on truth that may or may not have wounded some egos. “Not _exactly—_ ”

Veronica clicks her tongue all proper like and effectively shuts Zayn up the moment he tries to open his mouth. “Either you like him or you don’t, or you’re stringing him along because all you see is a full pocket.”

“That _wasn’t_ the agreement,” Zayn argues, tone defensive as hell, and even he can hear it with his own two ears. It’s too late to correct himself, but he tries nonetheless because Veronica’s grin is growing, and Zayn can’t let her be _that_ smug. “We knew— Like, we _knew_ , and it wasn’t— He doesn’t feel the same—” he tries again, but attempt is fruitless when Veronica tsks and shakes her head.

“Continue telling yourself that, Zayn, and see how much better you’re going to feel in the long run,” is what Veronica answers with, clear as day and refusing to believe any of Zayn’s half-arsed, bullshit excuses.

But he sighs, a deep exhale with nothing left to say because Veronica’s not going to let it go, and no matter what, Zayn knows she’s right anyway. The front yard is nothing but green grass and a crooked fence that’s in dire need of a paint job. The paint is speckled and cracked from top to bottom, but it gives the place some depth, well-worn wood showing off the years that have gone by. Zayn stares at it like it’ll give him the some kind of direction that’s best fit for him, blinks away hazy vision until he’s running his fingers through unruly hair created from the comfort of a good night’s sleep. “You’re telling me this,” Zayn starts, and it’s with the pad of his thumb running over the bottom of his lip, “but you don’t believe in it.” Maybe a dejected heart is enough to prove to his sister how what she’s suggesting is a very bad idea. Obviously they both know it, Zayn more than anyone given the fact that he’s the one _directly_ involved; yet, Veronica knows the mistakes from an outsider’s point of view, and she was only looking out for him once. For her to suggest a proposal to see Liam again and sort this out properly, shows she’s either lost her mind, or she’s taken a moment to attempt an understanding.

Regardless, Zayn should be grateful, but Veronica’s previous warnings ring true along with the sinking feeling that he’d been right all along to deny himself the pleasure of Liam’s company in an extended capacity that reached farther than their original agreement.

But in all honesty, there’s the part of him that’s now realizing that if he would just talk this out and clear some things up, he’d probably solve a lot of his doubts. What he’d been afraid of was the answers because for the first time, Zayn allows himself the full, overwhelming thought of a life without Liam in it.

Boy, did he screw himself over.

“You’re telling me this,” Zayn repeats himself, “but you argued before. What makes you so certain now?”

Veronica’s quiet when she moves, brushes off the backs of her legs when she stands up and nudges Zayn with her toe. He hates the position, with her standing over him like the older sister she is. It brings back way too many memories, those mostly consisting of a bossy Veronica in pigtails who thought Zayn was at her beck and call before Zayn realized he didn’t actually have to listen. “I don’t get it,” she admits, eyes squinting against the sunlight beginning to break through the trees at the side of the house. “And I’m never going to get it, but I’m making that clear to you right now because that doesn’t mean _you_ don’t.” Her eyebrows are cleaned up and maybe a little too sharp for her facial structure, doesn’t help that she’s got the cheekbones to dazzle anyone alive, but Veronica looks down at Zayn with a kind expression, and he can only feel hopeful at that. “That’s what matters, doesn’t it? It makes sense to you, so unwind whatever rope you’ve tied yourself up with, and just be honest,” Veronica encourages with another gentle nudge. “That’s all you have to do, Zayn; just be honest.”

Simple advice from a not-so-simple woman, but Zayn can’t say he doesn’t appreciate it. It’s not what he wants to hear, far from it, really, because if he could argue without losing, he’d admit that no, it’s not really all that easy to be honest.

That comes with age and maturity, and Zayn’s not necessarily lacking those. The age, maybe, but honesty means truth, and sometimes —well, nearly all the time, if Zayn thinks candidly— it fucking hurts like a bitch.

Then again, wasn’t he honest with Liam the night at the hospital? Hasn’t he been honest with Liam this entire time? Leaving out details is one thing, but he’s never exactly spilled fiction like wine. In fact, hadn’t that been a reason Liam was intrigued anyway? The brutal integrity Zayn seem to uphold even though he’d met Liam through a particularly questionable form of duty?

“How do I know I’m not slipping my toes into hot water?”

“You don’t,” Veronica admits with tiny flecks of sunlight now caught between the swirls of browns and greens in her eye; it brings out the auburn color buried beneath each strand of hair, too, changing her looks for a split second like magic. “I do know, however, that you have someone willing to drop his weight in gold for you, and if that’s not enough,” she continues, though backing away from the conversation like she’s a fairy meant to spread wisdom before fluttering away, hands finally grasping the handle on the front door and gently tapping her fingers, itching just to get inside, “it’s taken this long to find someone who looks at you just the way baba looks at mum.”

Zayn blinks rapidly, expects Veronica to disappear after such a statement, but he snorts at the notion until he realizes that there’s not a smile on Veronica’s face, no traces of humor like she’s messing with him just for the sake of it. She blinks back at him with big eyes and long, dark lashes that frame the windows to her soul.

And she has one; he’s not that cruel to deny her that much.

“You can’t possibly know that,” is what he mumbles weakly, voice fumbling and choked like it’s been cut with shattered glass. His grievance swallows him whole as he twists the rest of his body to look at his sister, almost stands up just so he can square his shoulders and dare her to say such a thing again.

“One look, Zayn,” Veronica articulates, precise and meant to hit him right where it hurts. “That’s all it takes.”

And then she’s gone, leaving Zayn behind and gasping for breath as he feels his chest constrict and tumble down into a bit of anxiety.

Five seconds, and there’s air in his lungs, but Zayn casts a worrying glance out to the world and wonders when his own shifted from a four way stop to a fork in the road without any signs to guide him where he needs to be.

Zayn rests his chin in the palm of his hand, hoping that maybe the finish line will find its way to him instead of the other way around. His decisions are dwindling, and he can’t quite help it if he curses Veronica under his breath for playing both the angel and the devil on his shoulder.

+

_Three missed calls._

_we shuld talk, when ur ready of course_

_call me when u can_

_ill be here when u need me x_

They’re easy to read text messages that Zayn can’t help but run his fingers over, as if maybe the brush of his thumb will miraculously turn those words into something tangible rather than a glass screen. It’s only wishful thinking, though, and Zayn had ignored them all in favor of silencing and pocketing his phone while around his family. Not being able to face Liam was an easy decision to make when his sister’s were informing him of on all the things he’d miss, his mother’s cooking filling his belly, and his baba’s proud smile even though Zayn knew he didn’t deserve it.

Liam had to wait until it eventually just turned into Zayn purposefully avoiding the situation, and while he could’ve texted back as soon as he got the first message, he hadn’t because he knew he’d give in too easily. To put it simply, he hadn’t been ready.

He’s not ready if he’s being honest with himself— something he hasn’t done in a long awhile. But his mother’s voice is in his head, along with Veronica’s, and he signed up for all of this, didn’t he? So, he might as well fix it.

_can we talk?_

It’d been a simple enough text message two days ago, and Liam hadn’t gotten back to him until yesterday. That man’s reply had been short and to the point, hardly anything Zayn could read from lack of tone.

An invitation and a seal all the same.

It’s how Zayn finds himself standing in front of Liam’s door on a Thursday afternoon when he should be back at work making up for all the shifts he’d managed to miss and the fact that he even has a job to come back to in the first place. There’s a lot of weight around him, on him —his shoulders, specifically— not it’s not like it should be. It’d always been easy with Liam before, but now Zayn feels as if maybe he’s walking into something too final because he knows how this goes; at least he has an inkling, that’s for sure. Anyhow, the truth will haunt him, and it will impact Liam, too, and Zayn can finally admit that giving that up is scary— not just the safety net that Liam has been thus far, but the company he’d grown so fond of.

Sex was one thing, but mindless chatter of two people surviving a rather boring night made for good conversation and a small bond that Zayn knows he’ll surely miss.

Either way, Zayn finally knocks on the white door, the doorbell long forgotten because if anything, he knows Liam and how it’s more than likely he’s standing just behind the door, buzzing with just as much anticipation Zayn is feeling. There’s also the fact that some of it comes from Zayn’s insane ability to shut people out.

Of course, there’s the possibility that Liam could be angry, but that’s hardly something that can be faulted, particularly when the door opens within the next ten seconds, and Zayn’s left blinking wide-eyed at the man before him.

Liam’s a shadowy figure holding open the door, looking no different except for the discoloration underneath his eyes from lack of sleep, mussed hair, and rumpled clothes. It’s almost as if his own bed had not been a friendly companion when the older man needed it the most, a lack of sleep a sure sign of Zayn playing an absolute stressor.

Though with that, Zayn’s shoulders sag, that lump of guilt shooting straight up to his throat. They stand in silence, Liam now leaning against the door, budged open just wide enough for Zayn to slip through if he so wished. Yet, part of him feels like going in the opposite direction, give a careless bow and see himself out of a place he doesn’t feel like he deserves to be in. In fact, it makes it even worse when Liam finally takes a step back, lips pressed together and somber as he further widens the door for Zayn to step through. With two feet in front of the other, Zayn finally lets himself in, his legs doing the work for him because his mind would rather disperse elsewhere in a time of high tension and irresolution.

There’s not a word spoken either, not yet, at least, with Zayn walking straight past Liam, head ducked without anything to offer. He should be worried about the signals he’s sending, how utterly selfish he’s been, but Zayn only makes it to the middle of the hall before he stops and waits for the door to close behind him. The shadows that had cast Liam in his darkness now cover Zayn, only a soft lamp before him shifting across the walls from the living room. It’s not late out, but the sun will be setting soon, and Zayn already knows that the curtains to the windows are closed, and the tone has been set, the perfect allusion without a touch of explicit commentary.

“Can I get you anything?”

Liam’s question startles Zayn, a slightly larger body shifting around him before turning back, bushy eyebrows slowly rising while waiting for an answer.

He should be a stuttering mess, maybe, but Zayn simply licks his lips and asks, “Water? Just that, if that’s okay.”

“Of course, please take a seat.”

A simple, non-intrusive reply that makes the corner of Zayn’s mouth curl upward in a cruel, twisted pattern. It’s still kind because Liam always is, but the comfy t-shirt that’s a bit too large and haphazard trackies are the opposite of comfort that Zayn’s typically accustomed to.

Zayn moves forward like an intimidated mouse, knowing that they’ll be dancing around the elephant in the room because no one wants to dive on in, and each of them is nervous beyond belief. But Zayn goes, and he finds a seat for himself on the couch rather than a single chair, not out of a subconscious thought that maybe Liam will join him, but rather make it easier to keep the peace alongside a relative kind of distance that they might end up needing.

He’s left alone with his thoughts for quite a time, Zayn sparing a thought to the fact that maybe Liam’s in the kitchen grabbing his drink, hyping himself up for what’s to come. So, Zayn does the same. He sits on the edge of the couch by himself, partly wishes that the teli wasn’t just a blur of random people without any sound and that the sun was allowed to sweep across the crevices of a home that surely needed brightening up.

However, not only does further put things into perspective for Zayn, how most things feel foreign rather than the fact that he’d nicked his toe on the coffee table that one time, or nearly tripped over the small rug in front of the patio door, but it initiates a sense of longing. Of course he can’t forget the first time he was here, just mindless sex without a room tour, but the place had still felt cozy. Over time, that had gone away, the fact that his footsteps had been the echo of a complete stranger. Now, it’s like that all over again, unwelcoming knick-knacks and a foreshadowing haze that has been cast alongside four walls that are screaming at him to leave.

Zayn’s fingers curl against the cushion of the couch, careful not to scratch or dig in too roughly, though that shouldn’t be much of a thought considering they’d created a kind of memory here, not one meant to be shared with the world. He refuses to brush his hands across any of the pillows, or do much else than keep from wiggling in fear of memories leaking from his eyes and the painful misfortune of Liam joining him out of pity in ways that Zayn does not want.

“Here you go.”

He’s startled, and Zayn doesn’t show it as Liam takes a coaster, places it in front of Zayn along with water that already has sweat collecting against the circumference. Immediately, Zayn takes it off the table, carefully bringing it up to his lips. It buys him time, if only a five second delay while Liam sets his own drink down and takes a seat in one of the leather chairs available on the opposite end of the couch. Their setup frames the delicate coffee table, the tv mounted on the wall with the shining lamp in the corner of the room. There are picture frames here and there, all black with smiling faces of family and friends that Zayn hadn’t asked about because that hadn’t been his business. The light, once again, creates shadows, but it follows Liam like a beam, and Zayn has to fight to breathe just so he’s not lost to the memory of them being tucked into each other’s arms like nothing was meant to break them apart.

“I know what you did,” Zayn begins as a distraction, choked with glossy lips from the glass of water he quickly jerked away from his mouth. He uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away any remnants and refuses to fall victim to embarrassment yet.

Even still, it’s not entirely how he’d wanted to begin this kind of conversation; an apology would’ve sufficed, but Zayn knows he has a lot to get through, and he hadn’t rehearsed any of it either. Too nervous was he to stand in front of a mirror and mask his features into something brave.

Because Zayn’s not, and Liam deserves to see that much, if anything. That’s what this is about anyway, and Zayn refuses to play unfair after he has been for quite some time now. “The bills and stuff, Liam; you shouldn’t’ve done that.” Frowning, Zayn glances at his glass before setting it back on the table, his hand a little chilly from the cold of the liquid. It’s easy enough to wipe off on his jeans, but it still leaves his hand aching for a moment or two longer. “That was something for me to worry about—”

“Thought it was the least I could do,” is Liam’s reply with very little remorse found on his tongue. “Seems like things added up, and who am I to walk away too soon?”

 _Without an explanation_ are three words that do not come at the end of that sentence, but Zayn knows it’s what Liam means, even as he stares at Zayn with wondering eyes. There’s no dishonesty, and maybe even he can find trust in them, too, but Zayn pulls away and glances before him because it’s easier to face the unwelcome wall than that of a man who’s willing to listen to anything he has to offer.

He’d like to tackle the question and the statement, why Liam would do such a thing in the first place, and whether he knew of his family’s entire struggle or not, was left to remain seen. Either way, Zayn figures maybe he pulled some strings, or that pity card was played without knowing the full of Zayn’s story, one that Liam should probably know now, the reason Zayn’s here to begin with. The fact that Zayn’s grateful that Liam went out on a limb for someone like himself will hopefully be dually noted, but outside of their intended agreement, Liam has no other obligations towards Zayn, and especially toward his family.

For the first time since the start of it all, it’s not Liam that needs to give, but Zayn. It makes him think about whether or not he put too much of that on Liam, too much of his needs, too much forgetting, too much sex, and possible hints that Zayn had essentially been what people would call a gold-digger. It’s too much in general because weight like that gets heavy; Zayn knows this from experience, knows it from what he’s facing right now, and that’s hardly the intention he ever had for someone as poised as Liam. “Didn’t mean you had to do that,” he says. “Wasn’t your responsibility to begin with.”

“Maybe it was me stepping on toes,” which isn’t a reply Zayn’s expecting, for Liam to be open to admitting his apparent need to play hero, but he’s not finished, and so Zayn gives him a moment, “or intruding— something like that, but I wasn’t going to leave you to handle it on your own.”

It might as well be insulting, but Zayn sees right through it. In all honesty, Liam has a point anyway; he would’ve been screwed regardless— his family would’ve, at least, but it’s principle that Zayn is after. Though, he ought to be careful because still, this is his doing. “And what is it that you think I couldn’t handle?”

He’s pushing it, he knows, but Zayn wouldn’t be himself if he hadn’t. Under his gaze, Liam shifts slightly in his seat, but he looks the same, remotely calm and less fazed by an accusatory expression. “You think after maintaining a business for so long, I wouldn’t come to some kind of conclu—”

“I didn’t lie,” Zayn says sternly, a bite among explanations. It’s as simple as that, though, because he holds the truth to a standard, and that’s important to him regardless of how long he’d withheld it. Even if it might’ve cost him parts of his integrity, it’s one thing Zayn figures should remain somewhat intact. “When we first met and stuff, like, I didn’t lie about any of that.”

It’s not so much the fact that Liam looks unconvinced, rather intrigued when he gives a subtle nod, hand running over his knee as if he’s the one who has plenty of reasons to be nervous for. “So tell me,” he says, agreeing to a promise that neither of them has asked for.

But either way, Zayn does. He parts his lips, and breathes in deep, picking at the tear in his jeans because sometimes it’s easier to pay attention to the unimportant when dealing with a story that consists of a chunk of his life. “We were getting by, don’t get me wrong,” Zayn starts with a lick to his lips, the intimate details already frying his nerves as if he’d never been so candid before. “But sometimes it wasn’t enough, and I suppose that’s the problem isn’t it? Cared way too much, had a brilliant idea, you know, easy cash with no strings attached.” Matter-of-factly while looking directly at Liam, Zayn does not break eye contact, nor does he dissolve under the pressure of the gaze returned. “It’d be a lot more beneficial than coming home and feeling like more than half of my existence counted as slaving away over something we needed— need to survive.”

As Zayn shifts in his seat again to get comfortable, the leather crinkles from underneath his body. Liam continues to be quiet, mostly out of respect, or maybe out of the fact that he expects Zayn to continue. But it is noticeable either way, and Zayn turns to something else, lets his eyes wander while sitting with the hope that Liam looks less than mad and just as comfortable in his seat as he was before. There’s no way a neutral expression will stick, he thinks, but it’s better than watching features morph into something unkind. “So, I didn’t lie, yeah? Mum has her off days, and sometimes it’s good. Sometimes it’s bad, and I worry. Keeping that from you isn’t something I intend to regret either because I knew the boundaries,” Zayn explains, briefly pausing to catch his breath, vision unfocused until he blinks away his want of fading away like the setting sun, “knew how this went between us, and what you asked for. Nothing personal, nothing too deep, and that would’ve crossed a line.”

He’d easily repeat a string of words and dialogue once held, but Zayn doesn’t need to prove that he’s hung off Liam’s every word since the beginning. There’s no room to save face, and Zayn’s already given himself away, and by coming on too strong (as if he hasn’t already) is spiking up the unsettling feeling again. There’s no relief to be felt, at least not yet, but the weight on his shoulders is lighter than it’s ever been. Zayn’s made it halfway through this intentional conversation, his admissions and his guilts. And even then, it’s not the most relaxed atmosphere around him, but he can only imagine the fingers slowly, one by one, letting his lungs loose. It’s stuffy more like it, and Zayn can be content with that, less worried, though it grows as the seconds drag on, the absent tick of a clock buzzing in his ear like a countdown when there isn’t a ready response from Liam.

And maybe he’s expecting too much. Silence will always ring louder than anything Zayn’s been accustomed to, though it solidifies the steady beat of his heart through his chest, only climbing to a faster rate when Zayn feels Liam’s hard stare—

“Is that why you blew me off, then, at the hospital?” Liam eventually asks, voice a bit downcast of rain hitting pavement. It’s not remotely close to being hard, not exactly a smack to Zayn’s existence, but it still comes as startling shock how Liam manages to press directly into the wound of Zayn’s actions.

Though with that in mind, such a question is not imposing, and Zayn’s more than grateful for it simply because it’s a reminder that Liam’s paying attention, that he has questions of his own, and he’s willing to ask them to clear what he deems the most important details up. In his casual attire of day old clothes gone wrinkly from lying about, Zayn might’ve thought it’d only add to careless thoughts and a brief explanation from Liam before Zayn might’ve been shoved out the door. Yet, as flutter long lashes with every blink, Zayn casts a glance out of the corner of his eye to find Liam settled, fingers scratching the scruff on his jaw while patiently waiting, yet again, for Zayn to aid him in clearing up any questions.

Zayn shrugs a shoulder while he’s at it, stiff and aching if he lets himself think about it for too long. “Sort of,” he admits, blinking back to Liam fully. “My sister— Veronica, well she’s—”

“A handful?” Liam offers.

Unintentionally, Zayn allows a smile to bloom across his face and momentarily forget that their conversation isn’t them sitting around and finding common interest. Still, he finds comfort in the teasing, heavy feeling finally breaking down as he snorts. “Probably putting that lightly. I’m sorry for her, though.” Zayn bites at his lip, an attempt to do away with his grin, and remind himself that it’s most likely unfair of them to find common ground on his sister’s ability to be difficult. But, it reminds Zayn that Liam’s still the same as before, and that worrying as much as he has been is probably not the most ideal thing he should’ve been doing with his spare time. It won’t change the outcome, but leaving on good terms is more than what Zayn could ever ask for now.

Only, Zayn has that off his chest now, part of the problem and a solution. He could continue on with that, work out some type of arrangement on Zayn doing all he can to return the favour that Liam had done for him and his family because God knows that was something else. There hadn’t been a mention of owing, and Liam hadn’t thus far been the kind to feel like he deserved what Zayn could put out. Mostly, Zayn hates the imbalance, makes him feel sticky with uncertainty and leaves a whole other can of worms to be dumped and sorted.

So, he could go with that, forgo his actual feelings because Liam doesn’t know, and what he doesn’t know won't hurt him.

But it will hurt Zayn; he knows that much is true, and as much as he’s sat on the sidelines and done away with selfishness, right now seems like a time to confront what he’s feeling. Not only to prove Harry right, or his sister, or to tell Liam for the wrong reasons, but for himself. Zayn’s hardly had an amount of steady relationships —or lack thereof— to have emotional attachment.

This time is different, and boy is he a sucker for taking the most difficult paths in life.

To settle his conscious, Zayn clears his throat, feels the rise of goosebumps dotting his skin before he blurts out, “But it wasn’t only that.” Zayn feels small all of a sudden, tiny sitting by himself on the couch, surrounded by objects and a man that used to make him feel comfortable like nobody’s business. And that’s because it was for a time, the fluttering of butterflies within his tummy, the curl of Liam’s hand against his hip. Zayn hadn’t thought twice about the shameless act of being showed off because Liam had always been there to make for up any shamefulness that might’ve resulted. “S’like, what I’ve to say next, it’s not ideal, I guess, but it’s the reason I’d been, um, quiet,” he emphasizes, the quirk of his lips finally slipping away while Liam watches on, particularly curious when there’s movement in his brow, like he certainly wasn’t expecting Zayn to have any more reasons for his hesitancy, “the past few days.”

Of course, that’s putting things lightly in a matter of speaking; Zayn’s been gone for longer than a week, hadn’t bothered getting back to Liam whatsoever, and honestly, he should feel more like an arse right now than he does for that. But personal issues are just that, and he’s just trying to make Liam understand. “It’s about that night; you know, at the event?” There’s quite a few to name, and Zayn can tell that Liam’s thinking back on them all, to every single one Zayn’s been to with him because it’s been months, and it’s difficult having to recall something without little reminders that spark the full episode.

Zayn doesn’t want to help with that, though. Rather, he’d like to sit here until Liam figures it out because it was a pretty awkward moment. But then again, if Zayn hadn’t been called to the hospital that night, he wonders how Liam would’ve handled it then, if he would’ve brought that particular situation up, Louis’ comments, or if it’d be water under the bridge, never spoken about again. “Russell,” Zayn goes ahead and admits, cringing when he allows that name to pass pink-bitten lips. And with eyes ahead, Zayn waits patiently for the memories to trickle down like a waterfall and realization to spark something new in Liam’s eyes. “Not like him necessarily, but like, about that.”

Partially the truth. It was about Russell and what the man had said, but it also had to do with Liam’s ability to leave Zayn in an awkward position without any kind of defense— as if he needed any at all. Zayn doesn’t like to think of himself as a weakling necessarily, and ultimately, Zayn’d been the one to finally wake up to the reality that he wasn’t and will not be the only one hanging off of Liam’s arm. He knew that, forgot it for a brief amount of time until it practically showed up into his life again like a walking cartoon full of exaggerations and life lessons.

Stupid, really. He hadn’t wanted to be the fool, but Zayn had practically led himself there anyway.

Though his sentiment is hardly an accurate description of how Zayn fell for sweet gestures and nice jokes, quirky smiles, and kind, brown eyes that eased Zayn into something he’d never done before. It’s a sudden burst of happiness in his chest, gentle reminders made whole, and Zayn feels every nerve ending on fire before he stands up. It’s quick, and Liam startles at the movement until Zayn shakes his head. “M’fine; just need to like, focus, yeah?” But it’s more of an allowance of space, room to stretch his feet even though he’s only been sitting for fifteen minutes, at most.

It’s the truth, anyway, and Zayn’s proud of that because he’s definitely on a roll.

“He was an old… acquaintance, Zayn.”

But even as Zayn cracks his knuckles and finds a safe place to stand, blood flowing through his ears yet again, he shakes his head and wonders if it’s appropriate to throw Louis under the bus for his intended answer to Liam’s statement.

Of course, Liam doesn’t have to admit his life to Zayn; whatever him and Russell once were is in the past, at least according to Louis, and Zayn doesn’t feel like Liam owes him anything. However, how things went down with his emotions —those jealous tendencies that licked up his back like fire— that’s how Zayn felt at the time. Though ever since then, he’s realized an error, and he needs to make it clear alongside the revelation that being in the middle of the past and the present hadn’t set well with him, at all. Liam might’ve not been entirely responsible, and maybe Zayn should be grateful for it because it finally made the light switch flick and the bulb go off for him to understand his place. “Louis told me; not everything, but enough.”

The lines in Liam’s brow crease as two bushy eyebrows nearly meet in the middle of his confusion. Zayn would very much like to press his thumb between the two, soothe away the worries that must be slithering over the possibility that Louis might’ve been chatting shit.

Yet Zayn faintly laughs and says, “Don’t be mad at him, please. Think he was just looking out for you.”

The graceful bow of Liam’s head serves as informing, though that doesn’t seem to settle him enough for Zayn to wait any longer; so he sighs, spine straight as a rod and shoulders pressed back like he’s ready to be given orders. “Only bring it up cos I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

For a brief, startling second, it seems like the very breath has been knocked out of Liam, how his chest doesn’t rise and fall like normally. There’s a hitch there that draws Zayn’s attention, if only for a moment. But then it’s back to normal, and Zayn thinks that maybe he’d imagined such a reaction.

Instead, there’s creases by Liam’s eyes, and they’re not entirely the beautiful kind associated with a smile that Zayn knows is absolutely stunning. Like a watercolor painted sky, Liam makes Zayn’s toes curl, especially as he takes in the motion movement from across the room. “And I can work off what you paid for the bill,” Zayn adds, gets a little nervous as Liam stands from his seat. “Might have to work that off for awhile—”

“You know I’m not going to ask that of you.”

Determined— that’s the only word that comes to mind when Zayn looks at Liam. Unlike the original thought of pure hatred, Liam comes across as less than that. He stays where he is, though, and Zayn recognizes the tug of war of come closer next to the stay right there. “Only an offer,” he reassures, but says it quietly because that tension is back, even if it is like a dripping faucet. Although, Zayn’s familiar how well and how easily it can get, thick like smoke resulting in more or less sincerity that they’d all be trying to wade through. “Could’ve— Should’ve stopped this a long time ago, if you were wondering.” And it seems like he can’t shut up with his explanations, and his lack of ability to leave any kind of wiggle room for Liam to speak. Still ruffled in his clothes, lips a deep pink color that Zayn wouldn’t mind tasting, touching if this were the right kind of moment. “We’ve established Veronica’s difficult, and she really didn’t approve of this.”

Zayn waves a flimsy hand in between the space that makes up Liam and Zayn. The truth of that feels bitter, too raw for his liking, and maybe Veronica shouldn’t be another reason on the checklist of where things went wrong.

But, at the mention of his sister’s name, Liam’s mouth purses, awfully quiet as he parts his mouth. It’s as if maybe there are sentences of thought there, decided and carefully phrased until Liam tightens his jaw.

It only has Zayn noticing and wishing that his own tongue weren’t so leaden, like heavy metal wrapped with unwanted annoyance. “Kept on, though, cos like, I convinced myself after a time that what I was doing was for unselfish reasons. For the most part,” and his is the part where Zayn wishes he could shrink, maybe blow away because there’s room for him to turn around and make this about something else. But the thing is, now that Zayn’s here, and he’s seen part of Liam’s reaction —plus the fact that he’s never had a reason not to trust the other man— Zayn kind of wants to pass along the hot potato and rely on good senses, a thing he’s had trouble with a lot lately. Funny that, how the mind and the heart are like two separate entities, not in tune and plucked according to less than reasonableness, “that was true, but then I realized something.”

Pausing on unfamiliar words sounds like a dream in the midst of Liam’s sudden glower, like the rug’s been pulled underneath him, and he’s waiting for a tidal wave to knock him off his feet. Panic features afterwards, just the rolling tremble of fingers aching to reach out for Zayn, at least that’s what he’s guessing if the careful rise of Liam’s arm is any indication. But it drops just as quickly, as if Liam caught himself mid-motion, and he stays where he is because now isn’t a time to break the formal until the sweeping of dust no longer catches the length of Zayn’s lashes.

“What is it?” is nothing a but a whispered question from Liam, muffled behind the thumb that rubs across his bottom lip, arm curled around his stomach now, defensive, maybe. But Zayn sees the pink of a tongue that leads to a visible swallow, maybe not the only person in the room who can feel the loom of something _more_ wiggle its way through the cracks of fragile glass they’re both standing on.

“Jealous,” he states as plainly as possible, with a watery sigh, head tilted down, and fingers finding the ends of his shirt. “Liam, I got jealous of one of your exs. Specifically over a man I had no right to be that way with— _you_.”

And there they are, just sentiments that don’t have a single leg to stand on. It’s an awful, bitter feeling left behind, a hesitant step backward that only has Zayn accidentally bumping into the furniture behind him. He catches himself despite the stumble, balance only half regained, but he feels like a wobbly deer on shaky feet that won’t hold him up much longer. “It’s not what you asked for,” he insists, a hurried rush of breath just to dispel any worry Liam might’ve accumulated thus far. “Like, you told me, right. How this was supposed to go, and I mucked it up, didn’t I? Cos like—”

“Zayn.”

Cut off, and not by his own doing, his teeth clack together, and Zayn doesn’t have to strain to see the foot that Liam puts in front of the other. “I’m sorry.”

But Liam tsks, close enough to reach a hand out and take Zayn’s in his. His skin is warm to the touch, and it’s the first thing Zayn realizes, gentle just like before. Though there’s a hard squeeze like Liam’s urging the restlessness out of Zayn, if only for a moment. “Scared me there for a second. Thought you were gonna go with something much worse.”

Frowning, Zayn follows up with, “You heard what I said, right? This is fucked up, Liam, I—”

“I did, and I’m not worried.”

Like static, everything goes blank around him, no sound, just hollow hearing. And it fades in and out if only for a brief moment, discernment bubbling like fine champagne poured into a glass. “What?” he murmurs, so quiet Zayn doesn’t think Liam heard him.

But he had because everything about the older man looks soft, approachable to the point where a minuscule tug on Zayn brings him stumbling forward, straight into Liam’s arms.

He catches Zayn by the waist and a hand on his elbow, let’s out a bit of a laugh while Zayn merely tries looking at things coherently. Though, he blinks up at Liam through the thick of his lashes, nothing quite makes sense. Grasping on straws is a huge understatement, and that’s probably more from Zayn truly not wanting to read things incorrectly.

Not that Liam’s necessarily playing difficult at the moment. In fact, he looks a little… _happy_? And not in the sense that he’s got Zayn and all is well, but like a relief coiling around the muscles that were so easily readable. Zayn clears his throat as he shifts, Liam’s touch sliding away from his like maybe he’s not supposed to get that comfortable yet.

Zayn automatically misses it, but there’s still a chat to be had, and quite frankly, Zayn’s attentions are turning more to the intrigued side of things, possible an annoyance if Liam _knew_.

Certainly he’d expressed his solace at Zayn’s admittance, potentially verifying that Zayn’s wound up nerves was something new and hardly a thing he could’ve imagined.

“When was it?” Liam speaks softly, as if he’s talking cautiously to an animal that might just run off.

But that’s not Zayn right; there’s far too much going on to simply find the door and never return. Things have turned interesting, and Zayn only wants to understand.

“When was what?”

“That you realized.”

That’s- well, that’s a not really something Zayn would like to divulge at a moment like this. Does it matter, those questions? Is it really important when feelings entered into the picture because in the end, the biggest thing is that they exist now?

However, it is the first time Liam’s asked something like that, probably the only time he will, too. And maybe Zayn’s thought about it, had the moment where he realized just exactly when he became overly self-aware. “Don’t think it was just one moment,” he answers, though it’s more like a reflection of little moments, brief flashes of desire spread thinly over a layer of awful heartstrings pulled.  “Things you’ve done for me, stuff you said I—” Ridiculous, that’s how he sounds, how it all sounds out loud. It’s a brush with shame and that thick mix of guilt because deep down, Zayn knew they weren’t gestures of love. They were bought and fickle and sweet talk because Zayn had what Liam wanted, and Liam had what Zayn wanted, and that’s why it worked for a time because how easy was it to step into the life of another? By no means was it switching worlds, but it was co-existing via inclinations and human selfishness.

Zayn only feels the soft brush of Liam’s finger under his chin, hadn’t necessarily realized he’d looked away and off into the distance like a dramatic movie hero reliving his past.

The pad of Liam’s thumb caresses his jaw, and Zayn allows the eventual moment where his head is at a slight angle, eyes downcast until he can’t resist any longer. He gives his attention willfully, just like he’s supposed to while simultaneously trying as hard as he might to adapt to his ability to smile. Liam, however, regardless of his lack of overall sunny persona, beats him to it before Zayn can berate himself, especially with the careful way Liam shakes his head and stares with so much _fond_. If there were ever a moment Zayn’s heart gave out from the overabundance of kindness that kills, surely it’d be now. “This could’ve been solved awhile ago, I’d imagine.”

And it ends just like that, like a snap of fingers and cloudy days gone, Zayn shakes his head out of incredulity rather than a matter of blind faith. “What are you saying?” he demands despite feeling tongue-tied. He knots Liam’s shirt in his hands, feels the warmth of tan skin just underneath his knuckles, and Zayn almost lets go because of that. But he crumples the cloth further in his grasps with a plea of virtue and good faith. “Liam, what are you trying to say?”

It’s there, a pinprick away, the simple riposte of _What do you think, babe?_

But Liam, fortunately, spares the notion of answer a question with another with a murmur of, “I like you, Zayn. Seems we both have something in common.”

Admonishing Zayn for his rumpled shirt seems to be the least of Liam’s worries as it is for Zayn considering his clasp tightens, and Liam’s pulled forward by the sheer force of little room in the fabric he chose to wear for the day.

And yet, it’s less about that and more about the color of emotions that paint Zayn’s face a hue of pinks and reds, from flushes of blood in his cheek, down the cool blue from an icy chill of straight up reality. “Don’t _do_ that,” he hisses. “I’m trying to tell you that-” But that fluttery kind of feeling bursts within Zayn’s chest, a happy kind of something that’s cautioned by the logical part of his brain. It’s like that little red devil has come to play, and nestled himself on one of Zayn’s shoulder. _Caution_ he says regardless of the fact that Zayn already feels like he’s fallen.

“And I’m trying to tell you otherwise, little bird.”

Choking on less than air, the rush of blood fills Zayn’s ears. Confirmation. Validation. Nothing of the two should taste so sweet, so fulfilling, and there’s a part where it feels like lies, as if Zayn’s the fiddle being played given that Liam’s never said as much, hadn’t given away his feelings like this. Yet, here the older gentleman was making everything complicated, something harder than he ever wanted to deal with.

In Zayn’s mind, he’d had it planned like instructions to any goddamn manual in existence; he knew how this was _supposed_ to go, how it was meant to play out, and now Liam’s the one who’s changed the game and done away with one of Zayn’s god-awful fears.

But really, that’s too much to accept like this, too easy, too swift in words as if they’ll kiss and make up and pretend like Zayn hadn’t been determined to put distance between them. “You said differently, Liam,” he reminds, debating on taking a step back and giving them their space when there’s hardly any room to think, let alone function properly when all Zayn can see and smell is _Liam_. Still, there’s the lingering _I’ve grown fond of you_ that rattles Zayn’s brain, words he’d meant to utter that feel way too transparent in the midst of Liam’s own confession. “Don’t think this is how it’s supposed to go.”

It certainly wasn’t, and maybe Liam’s just fucking him over by screwing with his head, but going from here isn’t going to be a relatively easy task regardless. Who’s to say that either of them have anything to gain out of disclosure? And that’s the gist of it all and the underlying presentation Zayn gives himself to avoid the pro and con list he’d inevitably make anyway. “You weren’t supposed to be so kind, and you certainly _weren’t_ supposed to make things difficult.”

Like a chopping block, it’s possibly given much harsher than Zayn intended for it to be, but it seems to roll off Liam’s shoulders without a problem because he doesn’t flinch at the mild taste of rejection, nor does he look like he wants to back down without some kind of say.

And maybe, just maybe, Zayn’s expecting that from him, too.

It all unfolds in the form of a laugh, a meek chuckle of bashfulness, the nervous kind before there’s a set of crinkles by Liam’s eyes and plush lips turned upward to frame shiny, white teeth. “Funny that,” Liam says in the midst of his mirth, “you weren’t supposed to either.”

There’s a squeeze to Zayn’s hip, gentle but a reminder nonetheless, and Zayn finally relinquishes his hold of Liam’s shirt, gives him room in the tiny space they’ve designated for themselves.

It’s easier this time standing in front of Liam likes he’s all but lost everything he’s ever known. It’d be an understatement to say the tables turned, but Zayn’s not sure he can allow himself to be enamored by a nonchalant attitude. In fact, his heart twists into a knot because _fuck_ , he’d spent so long worrying, so long thinking of moments like _this_ where the truth would end up spilled like milk across the kitchen floor. This should be so, _so_ easy for him now, and yet Zayn feels like pinching his side just to see if he’ll wake up from this god-awful dream that isn’t too bad if he takes a moment to evaluate it all.

But it seems like he has a knack of beating a dead horse because in the end, Zayn knows the stakes, and he knows where he stands. Liam would only lose a warm body —maybe one he deeply cares for and hasn’t subtracted down to only flesh— but that’s it; that’s all. A body, any one _body_ can fill up the missing space in someone’s bed; it just doesn’t guarantee that Liam would feel the same way about them as he does about Zayn accordingly.

Yet, what Zayn believes is tripping him up is Liam and his stupid-arse smile, his laid-back attire, his lack of restlessness with Zayn’s half-put confession; it goes all the way down to the tips of his toes and over to the fact that the older man hardly looks bothered or put off. That’s a difficult thing to process, and hardly something he’s used to, and maybe Zayn’s only looking for Liam to get angry. Though with that, it leaves behind one simple question: why?

“You’re being serious right now?” he questions and rightfully so because anxiety tends to bring out the worst fears in people. Leave it to Zayn to scare a good one away by letting some of that lose. “I saw how you were with him,” he gives with that startling spike of fear that slips up out of the flames in his throat, the spitfire truth of Zayn’s defensiveness lying around like a feast yet eaten. “And what he said and what you _do_. Liam, you’re supposed to get _bored_ of me, and I knew that— Didn’t take it lightly, and yet we’re—”

“Here,” Liam finishes for Zayn without any gaiety destroyed in his posture. In fact, if it weren’t for the clear notion of bewilderment, then Zayn would’ve obviously pinpointed the spatter of sorrow woven into the thread of every muscle and bone that makes up the older man’s body— as if Liam’s suddenly aware of another point of view finally emerging from the depths in which Zayn hid it. “We’re here, and you’re surprised, and you want an explanation that I’ll gladly give you if you’d let me explain.”

An offer given willingly, and Zayn should be able to ruffle his feathers like a proud chick showing off, but he sways at the notion of being arrogant. “Not so much wanting that than finding all of this a bit sudden.” Which is half the truth merged together with an attempt to regain some kind of defense for himself, a safety tactic filled with nonchalance that only leaves Liam clicking his tongue.

“He’s in the past.”

Zayn shivers, like maybe dripping cold water has spanned his back and followed the trail of his spine. It catches him off guard, to say the least, and there’s no reason to bring a question to the tip of his tongue because it’s pretty self-explanatory just who Liam’s referring to.

Still, it leaves a sour taste in Zayn’s mouth, much like it does Liam if looks are anything to go by. The both of them swallowed in darkness doesn’t help the change in tone, but Zayn can recall the lamp that gives life hasn’t flicked out yet, and if anything, maybe that has to count for something.

“Louis’ had every right to be nervous as he did, and once again, I can see I handled things incorrectly. Managed to bump into one another, hadn’t suspected the situation to succumb to any awkwardness, and it probably would’ve been easier to excuse ourselves, wouldn’t it?”

But Zayn ignores the question, rhetorical perhaps, but one that exists nonetheless. “And what he said? How is any of that not true?”

Liam huffs and gives a deep nod, but he doesn’t continue right away. Instead, he finds a comfortable seat on his couch before tapping the cushion next to him, prodding Zayn over until he realizes that Zayn’s more like a cat and would rather stare and watch the fool that obey and lose.

“He screwed me over, Zayn,” Liam simply puts, matter-of-factly and with a shrug of his shoulder. But this isn’t something casual, regardless of how it’s stated because this was once reality until it became a memory, and already, it sounds like a horrible nightmare. “Five-seconds of fame will do that to people, to someone I placed my trust in because I thought we were happy.” Crying hasn’t been in Liam’s nature thus far, but Zayn can pinpoint when things hit a little too close to home, and even though Liam’s leant back, a man with features and a home and all the things that are often lauded after, it’s only a result that money will bring as much happiness as it can until it begins to feel brittle and plastic when it’s more desired than its owner.

And Zayn would hang his head in shame but instead, he shuffles his way over to Liam, the tips of his fingers brushing over Liam’s knee before he places himself in the middle of the sofa like any normal human being. Curling up, he leans his head back, turns his head, and simply says, “I’m sorry,” because fuck, he means that. For himself, for the truth, for reality, and for Zayn thinking he was a lesser man than someone like a past ex.

“Don’t be,” Liam reminds, keeping his hands to himself, fidgeting as they are in his lap like a nervous child waiting to be berated. “Turns out it was easier having loose lips, and shit, what a storm that could’ve turned into had Louis not intervened. Best thing about a business is the lawyers and a short, bull-headed man with more fire in his body than a dragon.”

And finally, that’s the moment Zayn chooses to snort out his laughter, a crystal-clear picture of Louis at the event with him awhile back, such spitfire, and man, can Zayn believe every word of it. “Those don’t exist, Liam,” he teases in good fun.

But Liam has the mind to look faux-offended. “Shh,” he says, placing a finger over his lips. “You have to _believe_.”

Young, god, does Liam look much younger with eyes so wide like they’ve destroyed a piece of magic that had once existed until Zayn had to ruin it all. “Thought those were fairies?”

“Smart arse.” Liam’s reaching for him then, just a shove to the shoulder that Zayn bounces back from easily enough.

But even from that, they’re still so close, and Zayn thinks it’s cliché as hell to be sitting here like this, like two kids who’ve come to kiss and make up, only there’s much less of the former than there is the latter with a few added surprises along the way. Though, as Zayn and Liam sit in their silence, it feels a lot more like it used to, and a lot less like Zayn’s scratching to keep his secrets and his feelings all to himself.

No, it feels much better, and having Liam here with him, so close that he can see the length of his lashes and flash of his tongue as he licks his lips, Zayn knows he’s a goner regardless of where they decide to take this next.

And as it turns out, that next moment ends up with a gentle press of Liam’s lips against his, the slide of a warm, calloused hand caressing his neck, and Zayn practically crawls into Liam’s space. The wanton need to anchor himself down is very raw, and Zayn only finds that when he’s grasping at Liam’s shoulder and sliding into Liam’s lap with helping hands that keep him steady. Of course, they break apart, if only for a moment, until Zayn’s left with his forehead pressed against Liam’s and his arse resting on Liam’s thighs.

All he knows is that nothing has felt more right than this space he’s filling up, the one Liam allows him to be in.

“I’m sorry. Habit, I suppose,” Liam’s suddenly whispering, fingers playing with the ends of Zayn’s hair, wrapping it around his fingers before letting go and starting all over again, but there’s no regret near the blink of his eyes or with every breath he takes.

Because Zayn’s ruined that for him, it seems. Made him come apart in less than thirty seconds even though Liam’s not the only one suffering. Zayn’s only a flush of color and a wild heartbeat, though this time it’s for better reasons. “S’okay,” he replies, lets a smirk slip across his lips like he knows what he’s done. “It’s a lot to take in in one night.”

However, that boastful embrace is left for dead, Liam brings them back down again because of course, leave it to him to complete Zayn’s mission. “So caught up in your own worries, little bird, that you hardly noticed me staring right back.”

Shivers tickle his spine with the introduction of Zayn’s pet name. It’d never been something he questioned, just an added comfort he hadn’t known he’d miss with the tone of endearment. But it’s there, serving as a reminder and a promise of all the things that he knew about Liam before his antagonizing thoughts took over. “You sound like you knew before me.”

“No,” Liam answers, almost as if he regrets not having the opposite reply in mind, and while it throws Zayn for a loop, Liam’s fingers are drawing patterns over the material of his shirt. In such a moment, Zayn’s almost positive he’d remember the familiar touch, even with his eyes closed, maybe with a paint brush held delicately in his hand. Too corny, really, but he’d like to try, at the very least, hopes that maybe there’s an opportunity in the future. The canvas is fresh in mind, with blotches of paint staining white, more of it set aside for Zayn to use when he’s feeling passionate enough. Mixing and matching various shades would be a delight, bright hues of a beautiful mean he’d never be able to paint with justice anyhow.

The thought counts, at least. One day isn’t a guarantee, but it’s a possibility.

“That’s something I struggled with admittedly, and when I made you that deal, I had every intention of keeping my word.”

Trust Liam to know Zayn’s soul, piercing every fiber of his being all in one sitting. Surreal is truly for lack of a better word, but Zayn’s going to bask in that if Liam is ever willing. “And now?”

“Suppose I might have to break that,” is given with a very dramatic shrug before Liam’s tangling their fingers together, “if you’ll let me.”

Granted, it’s more than a _the ball is now in your court_ type of move, and while there will most likely be a sting to the inside of his cheek tomorrow from the incessant need to use it as a chewing toy, Zayn supposes the stubbornness he retains is a favorable gift on the occasion rather than the annoyance he might have thought it was. Drastic change in that, but it makes sense not to leave behind any inquiry at play. “Don’t think you quite understand, Liam. If we continue this, things _will_ have to change.”

Now, it could simply be out of defense, or just a natural reaction, but Liam goes utterly petulant, overdramatic in a way that almost has Zayn poking his cheek and laughing. However, it’s better— _easier_ to liken him to that of a pillar of captivating stubbornness, completely set apart from how the formation of his views continue to grow. Things in common be damned, though, because Liam breaks shortly after anyway. “Is this something you want?”

Less specific, but doable, though Zayn registers it as a concept with just the two of them, nothing more, nothing less, and a path he’d wished for but knew better than to cup his hands and beg. “Between us?” is asked with reproach, but more or less a question posed as a statement. “Yeah, think so.”

“Then anything you want, you can have.”

Maybe he’s supposed to a sense of elation now with Liam thinking that’s something to be proud of. And it probably is to some extent, but Zayn drops his head, chin practically to his chest while he evaluates how he should dredge up the ultimate request.

Because see, Zayn had already figured a relationship, like a proper go along was a bit much. Now that that’s taken a sudden turn, Zayn’s got his lines. If he didn’t, then the dynamic between them wouldn’t’ve changed; they’d slap a label on the two of them and call it a day, and Zayn’s not here for that either. “No,” he says, the tips of his fingers tracing lines over Liam’s chest —up and down, in endless circles like they’re caught in a continuous loop there’s no way out of. “No, it can’t be like that, Liam. That’s not— It’s not what I want.”

“Something’s the matter,” the older man senses suddenly, hands caught around Zayn’s hips, keeping him steady while he shrugs. “Tell me what it is; I’ll fix it.”

Serving a straight-laced grimace isn’t a solution, but that’s hardly what Zayn wants to hear either. It’s funny, he thinks, how all of this came about, with Liam’s demands and Zayn verbally signing that away. And yet, here they are, Zayn the superior while Liam looks on in hoping just to fix what’s broken.

But they’re not. Liam’s not a broken rag doll, and Zayn’s definitely not broken glass. Fixing doesn’t need to happen as much as adjustments, improvements. Everything needs a fine-tune every once in awhile, and Zayn only cups the side of Liam’s cheek, playing with the soft, loose strands that rest just above his ear. “It can’t be like before,” he says. “No favors, no _money_. Don’t want you getting the wrong idea. M’not here with you for that. Not anymore.”

Self-incrimination, but Liam hardly bats an eye at that. Instead, there’s a pondering look Liam takes on, rolling the idea around like a palm full of dice. “You’d be happy with that?”

There’s no way Zayn can help it, but he cocks his head to the side, like an idea’s just struck him from the inside out. Chest constricting, Zayn can’t quit his heart from falling, the plummet of heavy weight sitting directly in his stomach. “Yes,” he chokes. “I’d be happy with you, I think.” By now, he’s slid his hand down to the collar of Liam’s shirt, picking at the fabric, but he tightens his fingers within the material again, wanting to pull Liam forward and demand the truth out of him— is that all he thought Zayn wanted? Or had there been anyone else in Liam’s life to make him feel like that was all he was worth? “Part of why I felt bad, babe,” he hums around a sweet tone of reassurance. “Felt like a fool with _feelings_ , and I didn’t like that- s’why I went away for a bit, thought that like, thought it meant nothing to you—”

“Are you happy? Right now, Zayn, are you happy?”

Without much of a stir, Zayn leans forward a little, hardly in Liam’s space, but rather personal otherwise until he whispers, “Yeah, think I could be.” And then there’s a sneaky grin until Zayn’s pressing his lips against Liam’s in a chaste kiss that doesn’t last as long as he’d like, but more important than ever. “Just scared, maybe. Stuff like this doesn’t happen everyday, does it?”

“Suppose not,” Liam agrees, drawing Zayn right back in with an inviting look and gentle, plus lips that make Zayn sigh with so much relief.

They’re hardly done with their conversation, but for now, it feels like a finality, like things have been ironed out and things will be shaped as they go along. Sweet solace and a leak of penetrating, lukewarm resolve makes Zayn a lot less function and high on exuberance.

“ _Liam_ ,” Zayn whines breathily when the other lad begins to squirm from underneath him.

In fact, Liam’s fingers are right at the hem of his shirt, close touches, and Zayn isn’t surprised at the stirring in his cock. He can hear Liam’s own breath hitch, probably growing hard himself at the notion that _Zayn’s here_ and not away, not ignoring calls and text, and has _finally_ figured out what the hell had made him so bothered.

And that’s when Liam awkwardly lays them back on the cushions of the couch, his body flush against Zayn’s in a mess of limbs and wild, unkempt hair.

Zayn doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone look so _elated—_ with a face full of pure, unadulterated sunshine and arms that feel like home bracketing his shoulders. He giggles because he can’t help it, like a schoolgirl who’s embarrassed out of her mind, and yet, Zayn doesn’t have to be; he’s chosen that for once. The weight of Liam on top of him without much sex involved, the whole atmosphere of relief and shyness, mixed with a wave of uncertainty because how is this supposed to go next?

Where do they go from here?

Zayn’s not sure if it’s right to pick up where they left off. Overwhelmed as he feels, the very least he can say is that he’s okay with that right now, with the unknown, with them being so unprepared. Nothing feels overly different, and maybe that’s because things have yet to permanently change— stuff Zayn hopes they’ll both follow through on.

“Should I introduce myself or summat?” he suggests, as if role-playing their ability to start over is something that they can really do.

But Liam shakes his head. “You wanna do this right, then?” Which isn’t phrased in that accusatory, weird way like Zayn ought to be judged for wanting things between them to go at a much slower pace for properness’ sake.

“Guess so,” he agrees, thinks he likes the idea of that. They’d already rushed the sex aspect and maybe money management, but Zayn thinks of what’s left on a nonexistent list, what would be best to cross off to make them feel more _official_ , as if anything they’ve discussed couldn’t provide that for them before. “What about a date?”

“You want me to take you out on a date?” He maneuvers himself from atop Zayn, over to his side, back pressed up against the couch. Honestly, there’s hardly any room, but Zayn makes it work when he turns to his side, arm pressed under his head and face so close to Liam’s that they could practically do away with words and focus on lips instead.

“What if like— Can I take you out? S’that okay? No fancy shit or whatever.” Liam pouts, pulls out that bottom lip, all pink and something Zayn doesn’t think he could ever get sick of. But for now, he prods it with a gentle finger. “Would be cool, right. Me taking you out instead.”

Roles would be reversed, and it’s not as if Liam’s said that he’s had a problem with it. The only reason there’d seemed like a potential power imbalance had been all on Zayn and his selfish need for cock and _daddy_. But now, he thinks it’s a smart move, provide a little, contribute some. He may not have the kind of money that Liam’s able to roll around in, but he can do something special that doesn’t require the need to have people waiting on him hand and foot.

“Yeah, if that makes ya happy,” Liam agrees, grinning like the sun, his eyes wild with delight. His eyes are penetrating, careful movements that let Zayn know the other man is studying his face, memorizing, maybe, or just settled with the fact that he’s in Zayn’s presence again.

An odd thought, really, and one Zayn thinks he’ll have to get used. Being on the receiving end of affection isn’t a joke, but it’s something that hadn’t ever been taken as seriously as Liam makes him feel. And that has to mean something, if anything. Zayn might be making mountains out of mole hills— hell, that rings true for so much of his life with his caring nature and worrying attitude.

But it’s fresh, and he’s excited, wiggling his toes and pressing the palm of his hand against Liam’s chest because it suddenly feels like the right thing to do. “Might not be much,” he gives, but he’s not embarrassed. Liam’s never made him feel that low unless he’d been willing, and fuck, Zayn feels like he should’ve picked up on that a long time ago. “But it’s about making you happy, too. S’two of us now, yeah?”

Hints dropped into Liam’s lap like a dog with a bone, but Zayn thinks it’ll do, expand Liam’s horizon on the ability to ask for things in return, away from sexual things, away from expectations Zayn might’ve ever placed upon him.

“We can do whatever you want.”

And it’s not exactly the answer Zayn’s looking for, but it’s enough. It’ll do for now because they both have things to work on, boundaries to discuss, just being without the need to overcompensate with unimportant things. Works in progress, they are, and Zayn hums in agreement, already feeling the lull of exhaustion at the tip of his eyelashes. There’s something so easy about solitude, settled lines, and a place to just _be_. Zayn’s not even sure how late it is, but he’s not sure if it really matters at a time like this.

“Do you want to stay?” Liam asks quietly. Of course he snakes a hand across the two of them, thumb briefly brushing up against the high of Zayn’s cheekbone.

He thinks on it, and the answer should be glaringly obvious, a simple eye just to retain their positions. But Zayn knows better, and he meant what he said about that dating thing, about implying that the direction of their relationship should change despite the nature of it beforehand.

Zayn shakes his head, albeit reluctantly. “Should probably go.”

Luckily, Liam doesn’t disapprove because Zayn knows that if he were asked again, he’d given in. But he wants to remain resilient about this, about changing dynamics, and baby steps. Zayn can see this for a few months on down line, or maybe that’s just wishful thinking since things change in the blink of an eye. Either way, he won’t jinx it, and without any misgivings, Zayn hauls himself up from the couch, stares down at Liam who flutters his lashes and sticks out his bottom lip with feigned innocence. “You’re not having your way,” he bluntly states with a snort, but because he can only resist so much, Zayn does lean down, meets Liam about a third of the way before he stops. “You’re gonna pick me up on Saturday night, yeah? And then we’ll go eat, give us the chance to properly catch up with things.” And with that he means tonight, gives them a few solid days to digest everything and meet in the middle for further contemplation. “Cos who knows,” Zayn clicks his tongue, “might just change your mind.”

With a pinched look, Liam finally sits up, pushing at Zayn’s shoulder until there’s enough room for him to stand. “Don’t think that’s bound to happen,” he says, though his voice is low and rough with a glint in his eye, and Zayn would very much like to stay and find out exactly what that means, but priorities. He’s got to remember those.

“We’ll see,” Zayn argues, playful until he’s sighing and adjusting the short sleeves on Liam’s shoulders and a distraction tactic that proves no use because they’re short and unrolled, and maybe it’s just his excuse to get his hands on Liam when he knows that won’t happen for a while yet. “Just promise me one thing, yeah?”

With a dip of his head, Liam agrees with, “‘Course, anything.”

“That might get you into trouble one of these days,” Zayn snickers, but it falls flat, licking his lips and beginning again. “We’ll be honest from now on. I wanna know _you_ , Liam. Gonna have’ta allow me that much.”

He’s not looking at Liam for this, such a silly request that doesn’t seem to make much sense out loud, though it did in his head. It’s not as if either of them have betrayed one another through a lie, not even something white and got out of hand. No, there were bounds of sentences omitted, both at fault for that, and Zayn wants to be cleaned of it if he can help it.

But Liam’s there, with harm hands and gentle fingers that tickle the underside of his jaw, pulling his gaze up with hardly any pressure applied. “I’ll do my best, and we’ll work it out if we can’t.”

It ends on a note of finality, and Zayn nods because that’ll do, can only imagine that strings will unravel regardless if each of them can’t hold onto their promises. “M’gonna go now, babe,” he says, taking a step back while Liam’s touch falls away. “I’ll see you soon.”

It’s hardly a good night, but Zayn feels cool and hardly phased. He’s gotten past a lot of his nerves, and the full effect might return a bit later when the tackiness of reassurance wears away, and he’s left with his own jumbling thoughts once again.

Zayn turns on  his heel and follows the path to the hall just so he can make it to the front door, the weight of his phone in his pocket, and Liam’s heavy gaze on his back the entire time he’s visible. It makes sense, however, and Zayn shivers when he turns out of sight.

Though, it’s not the last of it when Liam suddenly shouts, startling Zayn. “Car will be there to take you back home.”

And Zayn already feels the bite of a complaint on his tongue, that he’d gotten here on his own in one piece. Certainly, he’d be able to make it back intact.

But he thinks about it, if only for a second, biting his tongue and throwing back, “Unnecessary.”

Yet, Liam’s quick, voice closer when he speaks, and Zayn turns just a bit to find Liam at the end of the hall with his arms crossed over his chest, and the side of his body leaning against the wall. “We’ll see about that,” he says because it’s clear he knows what Zayn’s thinking, that there’s hardly any justification for Liam to already snap his fingers and pave a red carpet for Zayn to walk on.

However, there’s a dare in Liam’s eye, like he’s waiting for Zayn to say something more because he certainly hadn’t disapproved of any accommodations before. And Zayn would argue that that was from _before,_ when they hadn’t made plans to shift their focus and allow two people to coexist as equals.

“Good night, Liam,” Zayn ends up saying with satisfaction.

Liam hardly looks surprised, but he gives a little wave with his fingers. “Good night, little bird. Text me when you’re home.”

Zayn’s at the door by now, swinging it open for him to step through, tapping his fingers against the threshold before he bows his head and kindly smiles. “Already worried?”

“Who said I wasn’t before?”

It all happens quickly, really, but Zayn finds himself stumbling a bit, the door shutting softly behind him and his expression definitely different from the one he arrived with. In fact, Zayn leans his back against Liam’s front door, nearly slides down until he’s sitting on the floor but manages to brace himself before that can happen.

It shouldn’t come at a surprise that Liam likes to have the last word, and honestly, it’s nothing too shocking, but Zayn feels warm all over, tummy curling with delight over the fact that Zayn had been a thought on Liam’s mind. Zayn hadn’t been just another boy to forget; Sinking and swimming between the cracks of doubt, his absence had been noted, a relatable distance kept between the two of them on the grounds of misunderstandings and absurd notions.

Zayn doesn’t wallow, nor does he stick around long after that, not with his ride waiting on him down below, or the swell of his heart pounding.

He feels excited, maybe a particular percent wary, but excited nonetheless.

Things are shifting— hopefully for the better, and Zayn has a date with a man he knows he could probably end up falling in love with.

Time is ticking, and Zayn knows he’ll be watching the clock very, very closely.

+

Zayn thinks that maybe one of these days, he should dare Liam to find an outfit he’s _not_ completely attractive in. Really, it’s only t-shirt and jeans, the most casual thing Zayn’s seen Liam in outside of his flat. For work, of course, he’s done up to the nine’s, but this is nothing more than a simple date where Zayn hadn’t expected to get distracted within the first five minutes of being in Liam’s presence.

Honestly, it’s a bloody henley, and light, blue-wash jeans. Yet, Zayn’s having to swallow back desire and keep from admiring Liam’s smirk because he knows, bloody. He knows what he’s done, and part of the agreement had been no sex.

Well, that’d been a condition, but rules were meant to be broken, right?

Either way, Liam slips his fingers in between Zayn’s, the palm of their hands now in contact. Heat pools in Zayn’s chest, tightens his lungs, and for a second, he thinks he might choke on air. Thrilling isn’t even the right word to come to mind; frivolous isn’t either, but they’re in a fancy town car because Liam insisted, and there’s only so much he’d agreed to after Zayn’s initial proposal.

Either way, Zayn’s not going to muck this up because he couldn’t control himself.

“You’re still not telling me where we’re going?”

Zayn resists the urge to roll his eyes in fondness. That excitement thrumming through Liam’s body isn’t uncalled for, but Zayn knows he’ll be disappointed. It’s on his own dime —really, it’s Liam’s if he gets into technicalities— but if they’re to make this work, then there had to be boundaries; there had to be lines that could not be crossed and one of them was Zayn’s special treatment.

Refusing would’ve been made easier had Liam not pouted at that, with half-arsed promises and a twinkle in his eye because, “You’re difficult to resist, Zayn. A shining star amongst us rocks, and there’s no way I’m not going to show it.”

Of course, the sentiment was nice— _still_ is nice, but he won’t become that person: an obligation, someone who takes. Before, Zayn had justified the money because he felt he’d worked for it, and while the means to an end hadn’t exactly been part of the morally high road, it still had principle.

Until now. Zayn refuses to be that kind of codependent boyfriend no matter how hard Liam tries to convince him that he doesn’t mind. It’ll take some time, sure, but Zayn can be stubborn, and he’d like to hold himself accountable for things in his control. “S’just around the corner,” Zayn reveals. “Nothing exciting, Liam. Just thought— Well,”

It’s a McDonald’s, alright.

And Zayn flushes as soon as the car turns into the lot because shit, it probably looks bad— scratch that, it _is_ kinda bad, but Zayn figured casual as fuck might work best. “Thought you could join the little people for once,” he coaxes, scratching at the line of his jaw. The squeeze from Liam’s hand ought to be jarring and a revelation of impression, but it’s mostly just to get Zayn attention and release any insecurities. “Didn’t think we needed to stick around, just grab something and go. Like, maybe enjoy the city. S’nice out tonight, and I thought—”

“Can we go inside?”

The car’s parked by now, the driver waiting for instructions, and Zayn had planned on the drive-thru, if anything. And no, he admits, it’s not the most creative place he could’ve imagined. Hell, Liam had taken him to places practically coated in money, and truth be told, Zayn’s still not entirely comfortable with that, knew it wasn’t his world to begin with, and what better way to test the water with Liam than to bring him down to Zayn’s level of expertise and general life?

“You wanna go in?” Zayn blinks over at Liam, only to find the other man gazing intently out the window like a puppy waiting for permission. “Thought it’d be difficult to even bring you here.” Which is the absolute truth, at that. Liam’s grown enough not to have tantrums, but Zayn, at the very least, expected a scoff and a slap on the wrist for lack of elegance and the audacity to fill their stomachs with food that could hardly be considered food in the first place.

But Liam’s not looking bothered. In fact, he’s already tugging at the handle of the car, eager to climb out, leaving Zayn sputtering and tugging on the hem of Liam’s shirt.

“Full of surprises, Malik,” is the response he receives. Liam nods at him, waiting for Zayn to catch up and follow his lead.

“Well fuck me,” he mutters with a laugh. “Shit can’t be that easy with you—”

“Plan to,” Liam interrupts, finally sliding out of the car, tugging on Zayn’s hand he’s still got a hold of. “Maybe not tonight,” he adds, “and I’d hardly call this easy, little bird. Took us long enough just to get _here_.”

As Zayn climbs out of the car, just after Liam, he knows that Liam’s not referring to their late-night adventure, seeking out food and standing in the middle of a nearly deserted parking lot. When Zayn really thinks about it, it did take a bit for them to get to this point, already settling into the cracks they hadn’t managed to fill under other obligations and convictions.

But now, it’s a bit different, Liam leaning back down into the car to talk to the driver, just before he shuts the car door. “You gonna show me what I’m missing or…” The suggestion comes with the raise of his brows and squared shoulders.

“Bossy, babe.” Zayn pinches at Liam’s side, fully intending to get a head start with Liam following, but he’s pulled back against the older man’s chest.

“Look who’s talking,” he murmurs, Zayn wiggling until Liam’s got him turned around and pressed against the side of the car.

At that, Zayn slumps, ignores the chill of the night or the fact that the driver’s probably sick of their banter and endless flirting. Because that’s what it’s been, something Zayn hadn’t figured would happen right away. He’d been too rigid when Liam had pulled up to his place, Veronica’s knowing smile and Harry’s ever useful, “Condoms, please.”

Zayn nearly took off his shoe and chucked it at him.

What he’d found was Liam leaning against his expensive ass car, rightfully dressed and eager to pull Zayn into his arms like they hadn’t any restrictions between them before. Public or not, Zayn allowed Liam to kiss him, if only for a moment until he pulled back and placed his palm against Liam’s chest with a chaste warning of, “Already got me, yeah? Don’t be sneaky.”

Of course that had released the nerves dripping from his body, with Liam’s easy dialogue in the car, and the drive through town that Zayn’s always been impressed with. Hesitation came with dinner plans, but now they’re here, and Liam’s willing to indulge Zayn with cheap food and a quiet night for two.

“Does it feel different?” Liam asks quietly, taking their discourse through an unknown area. Zayn wonders what Liam means —not that he doesn’t feel different, necessarily— but actions have always been louder than words, haven’t they? He doesn’t like to think he’s looking for signs of affirmation, that Liam’s going to be proud to introduce him with more finality than a backhanded compliment just to appease the masses and simple publicity.

But part of Zayn knows he won’t be able to help that, the striking itch of watching a future Liam chat his way through colleague after colleague, enthusiasm much more prevalent than the sarcastic ritual of pride because _Look at what I’ve landed, this is Zayn_ provides satisfaction like no other.

“Showing me off in public?” he dares, but it’s short winded when Liam’s eyes narrow, more out of jest than a result of demands. “Yeah, it does. Sorta nice, like. Familiar but _good_.” He’s hardly an eloquent speaker, and his thoughts aren’t easy to taste like he wants, but he’s trying to explain a feeling. That’s much more difficult to display, can’t force himself to rush into things because it’s meant to be _slow_ , and maybe they’ve already proven themselves, can pull back the rope and take that leap, but the fire in Liam’s eyes reads as optimism.

“No regrets?”

Zayn sucks in a breath, feels Liam’s finger tug on the belt loop of his jeans and pulling him in close.

Though he thinks about the question, doesn’t mean to stall and cause a wave of alarm, but it’s the first time he’s been asked that question. He’d been told by himself, his sister, Harry, even, little indications of his choices, but regret? Consciousness about the situation and playing the only hand he had, sure, but absolute contrite about what he’d done and where he is now?

“No,” he stammers. “Might’ve been fucked out of my mind with dread, but it’s hardly a thing I can say, you know, can’t imagine _not_ meeting you.” And he means it. Zayn can be fickle, and he can be practical when necessary, but hell, he means it. Liam’s been a wonderful circumstance, ruled by other theories on Zayn’s end, yes, but even in ten years time, Zayn doesn’t think he can look back with a glaring wish that Liam had remained a nonexistent entity.

The thought alone kind of scares him now, and that’s not because of the fact that Liam and him are _more_.

“Would be weird, wouldn’t it?” he continues as an afterthought, eyes trailing over Liam’s face with rectitude. “S’been a happy ending, probably a little too easy—”

There’s a rough laugh that interrupts Zayn, Liam pulling back like he’s making room for the extra weight of comfortableness between the two of them. “Sorry,” Liam addresses. “Suppose that means it’s only the beginning.”

Warm in tone, Zayn practically melts at how Liam chooses to handle things, sickeningly sweet but never harsh. His eyes crinkle with such a wide, embracing smile, and Zayn figures that if he didn’t keep himself in check, he’d smatter kisses across delicate skin, appreciation he knows how to give. “Just as long as there’s not an end anytime soon.”

Zayn watches as Liam sobers up and moves gently from the sway of joy into something more permanent, something achingly familiar to Zayn in a way he loves the most.

“Don’t worry, little bird,” Liam insinuates like he’s got a plan up his sleeve, and he’s ready to execute it for all it’s worth. “We’ve plenty of places to explore before we get there.”

That burn in Zayn’s chest, the one from the moment he’d stepped into the car, is back, only hotter. It swells, but doesn’t burst, in his chest, pooling down into his stomach where Zayn has to catch himself before he offers a whole new change in plans.

“M’hungry,” he says, looks off toward the building they could’ve been in by now had they not found better conversation. But it’s a distraction more than anything else, and by the time he glances back at Liam for some iota of approval, he reconsiders the notion with the way that Liam’s looking at him, only him.

Zayn’s never felt more alive.

“Then let’s take care of that.”

It’s the last words they have until they enter the building, and Zayn’s roughly startled back into the land of society and actual people who greet them at the register. Not for a single second does it cross his mind that this is something close to _normal_ , with a hand on his waist as he orders, coaxes Liam into trying something different because, “Haven’t been here in years, Zayn. Too much to choose from.”

And it’s funny, that. It’s the two of them without impressions, and the two of them having a time, and the two of them existing beyond the throngs of people who only know one way of life.

Most of all, Zayn feels secure, a part of himself finally checked off the list of things he thinks are important to showcase to Liam in the following time he hopes they’ll be spending together. Because it’s not as if he has doubts necessarily, choosing to go on spoken language of a promise rather than the willowing doubt that plagues his soul.

But most importantly, Zayn thinks, is Liam’s persona of Mr. Cool seems to fizzle out, the careful touches and public affection, well, that leaves Zayn more than dizzy.

First step, material.

Second step, physical.

Third step.

Well, that’s till has to be defined, but Zayn has no doubts that it’ll get there.

It’ll definitely get there.

+

It goes like this.

“I love the city.”

“And I love the streets.”

“The neighborhoods.”

“And the life it all breathes.”

Zayn cracks a smile and holds back a blunt simper, “Don’t ever become a poet.”

Which causes a startling amount of laughter and drowned fingers in grease, a happy Zayn, and an overwhelmingly joyous Liam. Though he’s never been a particularly messy eater, tonight is slightly different without the use of forks and knives and forks and spoons.

Zayn’s cackling over the smudge on Liam’s shirt and the fact that he’s got to grabble for a napkin, smacking it right on Liam’s face where there’s a glob of condiments in his beard. “M’shirt’s ruined.”

“You know they’re washable, right?” Zayn presents like the idea of laundry shouldn’t be a foreign idea. And that does bring up a lingering question of whether Liam goes through clothes quickly because of accidents that are hardly something to be proud of.

“Fucking ketchup.”

“Watch it, babe,” he says just before taking a bit of a fry, “might come back for ya.”

Liam eyes him like if he says it, it’ll come true, and Zayn shrugs and wonders how much they look like children rather than the adults that they are. Hardly anyone is here save for a few guests, but to Zayn, it looks like they have the nerve to mind their own business.

“Next time,” and by now, Liam’s used the napkin to clean himself up, a pout to his lips while this time, he breaks off a piece of his hamburger rather than going all in, “don’t scarf down your food.”

“I was _hungry,_ ” is Liam’s exclamation.

And it’s silly, good for nothing kind of fun, and while the night doesn’t end there entirely, the sites of the city is next, just as promised. Liam maps out Zayn’s neck with his lips and the rough of his thumb rubbing over the back of his hand, light filtering through the window as it comes and goes. Not only does it leave them in darkness, but it lights them up for special moments, Zayn’s shiny eyes less than an indication of tears but more than tired eyes refusing to focus.

“S’nice. Not bad,” Liam says, disturbing the silence with a hushed whisper. There hasn’t been a glance at the clock, and most of tonight has been small talk. Easy things given like favorite colors and bucket list type of activities.

It’s cliché and possibly a bit boring, but Zayn learns that Liam has two sisters, and his mother and father still reside in his hometown, lovely folk who call Liam three times a week, keep track of him, make sure he’s doing okay.

There’d also been mention of a childhood dog, and Zayn’s curiosity concerning Liam’s lack of ability to just fit in.

But Zayn hums in agreement to the original statement, ponders a younger Liam, less experienced and gradually earnest. Opportunistic values and pride that more or less whipped him into shape.

“What do you do for your boyfriend when he has everything?” he murmurs, only going rigid as soon as he’s asked the question. Too forward, too much because Zayn mentioned his family, his sister’s with doe eyes and dark, brown hair, Veronica with her vernacular and the spitting image of his mother. His father, strong-willed and proud, but loving all the same.

“Boyfriend?” Liam implores, the word rolling off his lips like it’s the first time in a long time. Though Zayn glances at him, lip between his teeth like he’s taken a step too far. And yet, Liam’s there with a nod and an earnest tone, “Like the sound of that.”

With a moment of clarity, Zayn snickers, resting his head against the back of the headrest. That only lasts a second before Liam’s there, shoulder bumping into his, and Zayn finds a better pillow. “Of course you would,” he proceeds with a lilt to his voice and a yawn to add, the day finally catching up to him. The gentle thrum of the car, its ability to drive smoothly, and Liam’s heat too much of a nursery rhyme that calls him closer to sleep.

It also doesn’t help that Liam smooths his fingers through Zayn’s hair and promises that he’ll take him home now.

Of course, Zayn doesn’t mind that, the comfort of bed a very real thing he’s excited over, though with the daunting absence of Liam haunting him, it won’t matter as much because out of all that, Zayn knows that tonight, regardless of lack of luxury or staple statements of a collective party, this’ll be a night to remember.

And overall, that’s more than what Zayn could’ve possible ever asked for.

+

“No, you have to like—” And Zayn motions with his hand, an attempt to have Liam copy his instructions even though Zayn’s shit at teaching, and Liam’s even worse at being a student.

“Still not working, babe,” Liam frowns, proceeding to forgo his attempt at a pattern by using the paint-stained brush and running it down the canvas. He ruins the picture he had— which wasn’t much of anything, if Zayn were asked, but it had been an endeavor nonetheless.

Zayn’ll give his boyfriend credit for that, if nothing else.

“What’ve you done that for? Gone and ruined it now,” he tsks, reaching out to grab the paintbrush from Liam, though he’s not able to get it in time because the older man moves it out of his reach.

“Painting,” Liam answers. “Now let me finish.”

Zayn snorts and wishes to tell him good luck, but he’s not an arsehole, and Liam had said from the start that he’d only wanted Zayn to show him _this_. And by that it meant his art, the studio, the very one that Liam continues to pay for because he insists on it no matter how many times Zayn protests and tells him he doesn’t need it.

Though just because he says that, doesn’t mean he doesn’t secretly enjoy the place.

It’s decked out in furniture at this point, cheap stuff that won’t matter if it crosses paths with staining properties. The walls, too, are decorated in misshaped portraits and graffiti, and Zayn likes it, _loves_ it because it’s his place, somewhere he can go and relax without the worry of the world on his shoulders.

Apparently he’d been spending too much time here lately because that’s when Liam had asked to see it, if Zayn would allow that, and after all, how could he refuse?

Of course, Liam’s eyes had gone wide, studied nearly everything with questions falling from his lips, absolutely fascinated with Zayn’s ability to find inspiration in even the smallest things. Truly, Zayn hadn’t thought he’d ever meet someone so thrilled at the prospect of so-called modern art that more or less equated to streaky pieces painted across cement of old buildings and bridges people were too scared to cross.

But Liam had said he loved it, and that was more than enough.

He turns back to his own canvas, half finished and awful if he really thinks about it, but Zayn harbors a need to finish his project anyway. It’s determination floating in his blood, though it’ll probably end up in the trash if he can help it.

“Zayn,” Liam calls, that warm voice a shiver down his spine.

It’s only been a minute, maybe less than that, and Zayn purses his lips while deciding on whether if he should wait to finish where he left off.

“Yes, Liam.”

The shuffling stirs his attention, the both of them sitting right next to each other facing the windows where the potted plant still sits, green and growing and most importantly, _alive_.

“Have you thought about what I said?”

Chewing on his bottom lip, Zayn blinks ahead of him, over the canvas and out the window where there’s a wash of trees and grass and sky. Simplistic view, but it’s sunny out for once unlike the gray texture of the sky it usually beholds.

And then he remembers why he came out here in the first place, Liam trailing behind him not too long after he’d left Liam’s place because Zayn had panicked like he was prone to doing on the rare occasion. The only place he felt comfortable enough to run to when he wanted to be alone now was here in the studio, working on art as a release rather than stew in other distractions that most certainly wouldn’t help.

“You don’t think it’s kind of sudden? Like, it’s only been a—”

“Few months,” Liam finishes for him, knocks the guilt right into Zayn’s stomach, not to include guilt tripping, but to remind Zayn that things between them have been just fine and that there’s nothing to worry about when it comes to future endeavors that involve meeting family members.

“Right, but that doesn’t mean I should be meeting your sister already.” He frowns, finally turning in Liam’s direction with an over exaggerated sad face because he knows Liam’s weaknesses, and that is usually one of them.

“S’just Ruth,” Liam shrugs. “You’ll like her loads, Zayn, and I know she’ll like you.”

“Doesn’t make it any less scary, though,” he mutters, though he sighs and picks at his stonewash jeans that’ve holes in them and paint platters of various shades. No sense in washing them now; they’re practically ruined, and Zayn finds em fascinating while he acts reluctant to give Liam an answer.

Again, there’s some shuffling, Liam setting down his paintbrush, wiping his hands on his jeans, too, before tapping Zayn gently under his chin just to get him to look up at him. “What about a trip somewhere? Like, would that change your mind, put up with the fam and then take a holiday?”

Zayn swats at Liam’s fingers, brows furrowed together as he registers what Liam’s proposing. “A trip to _where— Liam_ , you can’t just bribe me!” He’d flinch at the screech of his own voice, and he knows there’s a part of Liam joking, but just the fact that he can _offer_ that…

Exasperated, honestly, and the nerve, but Liam’s grinning politely. “But will it _work_ , Zayn?”

He gasps at Liam like he’s lost his mind, shoves at Liam’s shoulder playfully as soon as he stands up to move around. Though mid-walk, Zayn changes his mind, ignores the need to take a step outside in favor of gathering his things to clean them off properly so he can store them away. “You very well know my answer to that.”

And then there’s the slide of Liam’s palm across his waist and the gentle hum under the man’s breath; it’s tied up with humor like a bunch of balloons in the sky. “Quite amazes me with that, really,” Liam says with his chin hooked over Zayn’s shoulder.

He’s got a hand full of paintbrushes, wiping them off before setting them aside, and he has no clue if he’ll ever get around to finishing what he started. “You’re too good to me, and I appreciate that.”

“But?”

“But nothing,” he nods, “I’ll meet her if you want me to. Like, I’ll do it and worry out of my mind, but if it’s what you want—”

As carefully as possible, Liam slides in front of Zayn, taking the brushes out of his hand altogether and smiling kindly like he realizes just how difficult he was being. “M’not gonna make you do anything you don’t want, Zayn. You know that.”

He does; of course Zayn does. Liam’s like a parrot with that phrase which almost leaves room for Zayn to mock him out of good humor. But it’s turned into something else, the air, not as breathable as it’d once been, with Zayn catching his breath any time Liam’s fingers dance across his back, gentle back rubs, and a warm hug to fall into. “She’s coming down for the weekend, babe. Don’t get to see her often, and thought maybe it’d be good, you know.”

Though Liam bites his tongue after that which only turns Zayn curious. It’s not often that Liam holds out with his words, too much of an open book when he’s relaxed, and more than trusting around the people he loves. “Y’can say it. Not gonna hurt m’feelings.”

Which is true. Zayn’s come a long way with believing Liam has any interest in him far beyond the scope of boy toy, but that hadn’t meant Liam wasn’t cautious about his world and how he was with Zayn, wanting only the best regardless of Zayn’s poor attempts at remarking that, “Just you is enough.”

But Liam nods in agreement “You’re not a secret, babe,” and it’s said with sincerity and kindness like Zayn has come to expect, and more importantly, respect.

Then again, that brings up a lick of reminder on Zayn’s part because they’d talked about this before, briefly, if nothing else. Though, most of it had to do with Zayn’s half of the family and the gentle notion that Zayn admitted he hadn’t thought he’d be able to introduce Liam to anyone, at least not right away. Maybe after some time had passed, when they could come from a more organic perspective and excuses, then it could happen.

It works out well anyway because while Veronica and Harry know the truth, his family doesn’t just yet, and Zayn would very much like to keep the origins of _LiamandZayn_ locked down in an attempt to save his hide in front of his parents.

One day, he knows, but not today, and not anytime soon, and Liam had been okay with that.

Yet, now is something else, something different because Ruth is one of Liam’s sisters, and it’s a different situation, a different circumstance, and more than ever, Zayn’s already afraid of her given the fact that he knows what she could very well think: not good enough for Liam, too young for Liam, using Liam, and the thoughts continue to roll on.

“S’why I asked you because you’re here now, and you mean that much.”

Maybe Liam’s intent isn’t seducing Zayn with words, but bloody hell, it’s working. Rationally speaking, everything makes sense, and it lines up, and Zayn hates that itchy feeling of reverting back into his worrisome self just because of a slight bridge he knew he’d have to cross over at some point, but it doesn’t make it any less intimidating because Liam means that much to him, too, and getting it right is the first thing on his mind.

“I’ll do it,” he says firmly, a challenging look in his eye, daring Liam to question his judgment despite the fact that Liam can probably feel the shake in his bones, and the preparations he’s already making in his head. “Are we just gonna like, have dinner because maybe I can—”

With a thumb pressed over his lips, Zayn looks up at Liam a bit crossed eyed, brows raising at the cut off. “I’ll take care of it.,” Liam consoles, finally removing his hand, brushing his knuckles against Zayn’s cheek like soft feathers that make him want to drift off into the land of the unknown. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

But he will, and they both know it, but in the meantime, Liam presses a chaste kiss to his mouth before gathering Zayn’s brushes and handing them back to him. “And we’ll still go on that trip afterwards anyway. S’already a done deal.”

Liam’s moved just out of Zayn’s space, far away enough that he can reach him to pinch his side for dropping unexpected news on him. “You can’t do that— _Liam_.”

But the older man’s crinkly eyes and shaking shoulders remind Zayn of something soft and something warm, and that’s really all the angry he has in himself to produce. He’ll protest throughout the week, of course, but for now he’ll let Liam think he’s won with his little attempt and being nice.

“Only a business trip,” is the explanation given, Liam taking his own set of brushes before wiping the excess product off onto what’s left of his canvas. It’s a mess, a muddy brown color that holds no real shape.

Admittedly, Zayn thinks he kinda likes it anyway.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t _come_ along, though.”

With an eyebrow wiggle thrown in, Zayn slaps a hand over his mouth with the sudden burst of his laughter. “We’re not doing it on a plane, Liam. I can’t believe you,” he hisses.

But it’s in good fun, nonetheless, with Liam’s cheekiness spreading like wildfire. “Humor me, babe. It could be fun.”

Zayn clicks his tongue and shakes his head, but he’s smiling, and it’s perfect because Liam’s addressed their problem head on, and Zayn braved through it. And really, the team effort they have is nothing short of perfect in his mind because truly, it works. Liam’s the wall that holds them up with too many yes’ and not enough nos, but Zayn is most definitely the one to drag them back down to the ground— in a good way.

“Yeah, okay,” he promises, twirls the artist brush between his fingers before dipping the bristles into a sea of red paint. “Love you for it anyway.”

There’s no need to take a glance because Zayn knows exactly what he’ll find, but he does it regardless, more so out of pure curiosity that just can’t be killed.

Liam’s like. Well, he's not _glowing_ necessarily, but he looks brighter than the sun with the blinding smile that transforms his face from a serious businessman into that of a giggly teddy bear.

Something warm burns away at Zayn’s heart, finally turning back to the canvas before him. Gently as possible, he makes a stroke and then another, and where this thing will end up, he can only guess, but what he hopes it represents is something more than meets the eye.

“I love you, too, Zayn. Y’gonna help me finish?”

Biting his lip, Zayn resists the urge to follow that up with anything other than perpetual silence. He knows exactly what Liam means —finishing his own masterpiece of paint and paper— but it’s only a chance to rile Zayn up with fun rather than hobbies.

However, he doesn’t manage it completely, not with the, “Nah,” that escapes his throat, or the way that Liam creeps up on him just as he’s about to apply another layer of pressure to his canvas.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Liam breathes with a ghost of a kiss across Zayn’s neck.

Even then, Zayn has resolve. He’s got enough strength in him not to give in and finish his project without Liam’s distractions.

And yet, there's a bite to his earlobe, and the puffs of breath across his skin, all filled with heat and whispered words that don’t escape his ears.

Zayn whines lowly, and bloody hell, he should’ve known he’d be a goner from the beginning.

From the very, _very_ beginning.

\+ end +


End file.
